


Fool's Mate

by harrycrewe



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Knotting, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrycrewe/pseuds/harrycrewe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for a prompt on the kinkmeme that got a little out-of-control</p><p>Alpha's Erik life is very simple - rule his country, lead his warriors, ignore his pain in the ass advisor Shaw and fuck as many pretty asses as possible. Then there is this trip near the Sanctuary with virginal Omega monk and everything goes to hell. He stumbles upon a lonely Omega nearing his heat - he catches him, he rapes him and gods have mercy he knots and imprints on the blue eyed brat. Now the whole "fun" begins...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was spring. The frozen earth had taken a deep breath and, as it exhaled, thawed into rich loamy soil. Young plants burst through, pushing forward in between the dried stalks of the generation prior. True, it was still a little chilly, but that only made the sun feel better where it touched Erik’s arms and neck. 

He was seated on his horse at the head of a small party of courtiers and nobles. Ostensibly they were making a survey of the countryside, to see how the people have fared over the cold winter and estimate the prospects for planting in the coming days and weeks. In point of fact, after weeks of cold, gray winter, Erik had been bored, and both he and Magneto deserved an outing. The courtiers, silly creatures that they were, had decided on their own to join him; Erik certainly hadn’t encouraged them to do so. 

He squeezed Magneto’s flanks, and the roan stallion burst forward, pleased to have permission to run. As they sped away he just heard Shaw’s voice floating back to him.

“Really, your Highness…”

Erik ignored him. Prime Minister Shaw was a useful man - he ran most of the day-to-day affairs of the kingdom while Erik was away at war - but he did have an irritating tendency to attempt to patronize his monarch, especially since he had served as Regent in the several years interim after Erik’s parents passed away and before he came of age. Shaw was the sort who preferred the pomp and ceremony of a castle throne room, where he could remain comfortably in charge as the various nobles and tradesmen came to grovel and petition in front of him, to the bright sunlight and clean air of a spring day outdoors. 

Magneto cantered away at an easy pace, until Erik turned him away from the road and into an adjacent field and let him go. Then the horse ran like he was flying, intent on some goal Erik could not fathom. His neck, arched forward, became streaked with sweat. He ran in a straight line, but the road made a gentle curve around them, and at the end of the field they encountered it again. Magneto slowed. They made their way parallel to the road, heading up a gentle incline until they reached a ridge of sorts. Then, breaking through a stand of trees, they saw the countryside stretched out beneath them in a grand panorama, a patchwork of fields, some yellow and some tilled black, with neat lines of trees demarcating the borders like careful stitching. The road curved down towards a low point on the landscape. Nestled within the greenery there, Erik could just make out the gray walls of the Sanctuary.

He dismounted, stretched his legs, and rubbed Magneto’s nose. He could wait here awhile until the rest of the party caught up, and then perhaps they could head down to the Sanctuary and impose upon the Prioress for some bread and cheese, and possibly wine. They had been riding since near dawn after all, and though for Erik, conditioned he was to military campaigns and long marches, it was nothing, many of the retinue of lords and ladies were showing signs of becoming fatigued and saddle sore, drooping in their expensive riding-dresses like sad little flowers.

Erik snorted at the thought of them. He would be glad to leave them in the coming months: this season, he intended to take his army east, and flush out the thief-king Azazel, who had been harassing the villagers of that region for far too long already.

 

 

He was distracted from these musings by the rustle of bushes and the sound of footsteps. It was coming from the wrong direction to be Shaw and his party. When no one came forward after a minute, Erik went towards the sounds.

It was a young man, in the brown robes of a member of the order. He was kneeling on the ground, apparently working at digging up some plant he wished to collect. However, he seemed to be having more difficulty with the task than one would expect. His skin was pale and glistening with sweat.

The man turned and looked at Erik. He saw large blue eyes, disoriented. Then, with visible effort, the man pulled himself together and sat back on his heels to address Erik.

“Oh,” he said. “Hello. I didn’t realize there was any one here.”

Dazed, Erik thought to himself, trying to account for the man’s condition. Unwell?

Then, abruptly, the breeze shifted.

The scent of full, ripe omega hit Erik hard. His nostrils flared and he felt his whole body stiffen involuntarily. By the time he realized what he was doing, he had already lunged towards the man, who was scrambling away from him, his expression turning to one of fear and panic.

He was trying to get away from Erik. The thought made him snarl and jump forward, catching the omega’s shoulder and forcing him backwards and down onto his back on the ground, twisted at an uncomfortable angle. Erik loomed over him, taking feral satisfaction in the way that his body was bigger, stronger, and bracketed the smaller omega in. 

“What?” said the man, “What are you doing? Stop!” His words registered, but distantly. Was it possible that he didn’t understand what was happening? Unless someone came at once, and risked death by stepping between them, it would soon be impossible to stop. 

Forming the words took effort, but Erik managed to growl out, “You’re in heat.” 

“What?” babbled the omega “No, I’m not! Not yet,” and how was he even still speaking, Erik didn’t know. He tore at the man’s robes as best he could, struggling to get to the pale flesh within, and then worked at his own trousers and tunic and snarled in frustration because the buckles and buttons were all impossibly complicated, and there were far, far too many.

The omega lay beneath him, struggling weakly: struggling, Erik knew, in spite of the demands of his own body. It must be his first heat, or, more realistically, the first heat in which he’d been exposed to an alpha, since the man was well past the age of puberty and wore the robes of a virgin monk. Erik hadn’t lain with such an omega since not soon after puberty himself: he preferred his bed partners knowledgeable about how to take pleasure and how to give it: not confused and disoriented as an omega in first estrus so frequently was. As this one was.

But there was nothing for it now. Taking a hold of the man’s robes and tearing violently, he finally managed to separate them from the body beneath him. When he looked down he saw white skin, a soft but flat belly: with a few more harsh tugs, the man’s underclothes came free as well, and his cock, larger than those of most male omega, flushed and painfully hard, bobbed free. He could hardly tear his gaze away from it, but when he did, and looked back into the face of the omega, he realized he was being stared at back. The omega looked desperate, and confused, and angry, but whatever he saw in Erik’s expression caused him to turn his face away. 

“I’m sorry,” Erik said, using his hands on the man’s waist to guide him over, onto his hands and knees, the ruined robe serving, at least, as a thin layer of cover over the ground. 

It had been a long time since he’d been caught by the fever, and it had never before happened with such intensity. Erik didn’t bother to finish undressing himself, but took himself out of his trousers, already hard and starting to grow at the base. He grabbed the omega’s hips and lined himself up, then guided the tip in. It was easily, the man was slick and wet and fully open beneath him: already at the peak of his heat, which must have been building for at least a day. What on earth had possessed the Prioress to let one of her charges leave the Sanctuary in such a state?

As soon as he was inside the urgency of the fever was too much to ignore. Erik snapped his hips back, then thrust them forward again, setting up a driving rhythm that had the omega twisting and panting beneath him; one moment trying to crawl away, the next pushing himself back harder onto Erik’s cock. Erik leaned farther over him, and reached one hand down to find the man’s cock, stroking it and pulling it as best he could, although his thrusts were already frantic and he was too far gone to do the thing well. 

In another moment he was going to knot, and he didn’t have the self-control to do so outside the omega, he already knew it. With each thrust the knot was harder to push in, each time he pulled back, the omega cried louder. The only thing was that he must not bite: Erik recited the lesson of his adolescence over and over to himself like a mantra now. Must not bite, must not bite. He had never, with any of his partners, found this rule hard to follow, but now it seemed impossibly difficult, especially when his mouth was so close to the omega’s white shoulder, and his head, hanging down, left the arch of his neck so exposed.

The omega cried out, louder and harsher than the little sounds he’d been making until then, and Erik realized that he was trying to pull back and could not: they were fully knotted, and he could feel every inch of himself inside the omega, being milked by internal muscles. He released the last pieces of control he still hung on to, and came, in great rolling spurts that mirrored the spasms of the man on his hands and knees in front of him, and then he reached down and caught the nape of his neck in his teeth, and bit, savagely, making the man howl with pain as the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.

 

 

They both breathed heavily, hardly moving, the omega’s head still lolling between his shoulders, Erik still coming, in smaller, sporadic bursts that finally began to die away. Bit by bit, their breathing grew calmer, and the omega beneath him began to shift from one hand to the other, as if the ground was hurting him. Unexpectedly, he tried to pull forward.

“Damn!” Erik said, forced to walk on his knees to keep from having his dick torn off. “Stop that!”

The omega didn’t reply. He possibly hadn’t realized, Erik decided. As a monk, his exposure to sex was obviously limited. 

“It’s going to stay like this for a while,” Erik explained. “We just need to wait. Come on, we can probably turn. It’ll be more comfortable.”

The omega still didn’t answer. Erik pulled himself up, so that he wasn’t lying heavily over the man’s back. He wiped his mouth: it came away red. The bite on the back of the man’s neck was a red brand; droplets of blood ran down the sides of his neck. Maybe it hadn’t taken, Erik thought, rather desperately. But he was already sure that it had.

A rustle of movement in the bushes near to them caught his attention: neither he nor the omega were quick enough to do more than look before Shaw came, pickings way through the bushes.

“Your Highness!” he called, and then, in an altogether different tone of voice, “Your Highness!” 

Erik saw the quick glance Shaw cast over them before he delicately averted his gaze, and growled a warning, which Shaw ignored. 

“I’ll tell the others to wait for you by the road,” Shaw said. 

“Get me some clothing,” Erik snapped. “Leave it by that tree. We’ll be with you when we’re ready.” 

“Of course. And then I assume we’ll be visiting the Sanctuary?”

So Shaw had seen the bite. Erik held back another snarl, and glared at his minister until he went away.

 

 

It took a good quarter-hour more for his knot to subside. As soon as they were able to separate, the omega was crawling away from him, until he reached a large tree. He turned, and leaned against it, collecting himself into a small, wincing, huddled shape. Erik smelled fear, confusion, and anger, rolling off the smaller man, as well as the scent of the sex they had had, and his still-potent slick. The omega glared, watching Erik as if waiting for his next move. 

This is my mate, Erik realized, looking at the man and finally cataloging his features: blue eyes, a lush, pink mouth, a boyish face, and soft brown hair, cut rather longer than the monks tended to wear it.

“I’m Erik,” he said, and then, “What’s your name?”

The omega glared at him as if he intended to refuse. But then, one hand crept back to cover the bite on his neck. When he brought it back forward to look at, the palm was smeared with blood. Then he did look at Erik, and all at once the scent of his fear was overwhelming.

Still, his voice did not waver when he spoke. 

“Charles Xavier.” 

 

 

Shaw had left a long tunic he must have forced one of the courtiers to abandon folded under the tree. When the omega put it on, he looked ridiculous: the sleeves were too long, but it only fell to above the knee, and had high slits up the side as well. His knees were red and scratched from the abrasive pebbles and twigs that had been on the ground. Looking and smelling as he did, it was positively indecent. 

When Erik marched him out to the waiting line of nobles, and horses, the shock and excitement in the air was palpable. Of course Shaw had told them what had happened: if he hadn’t, they’d doubtlessly scented it. He watched the omega - Charles – shift nervously, caught between the openly fascinated nobles in front of him, and Erik behind. 

Erik hesitated, and guided Charles over to Magneto. He used his hands to form a step. “Climb up,” he said- but then, when some of the nobles behind him tittered, he realized his mistake. The omega realized it too, his face was bright red: of course there was no easy way to mount a horse gracefully wearing such a short garment, and riding would probably be extremely uncomfortable as well. Erik’s flush probably matched his omega’s as he cast a quick, angry glance around, finally spying a side saddle on the gray gelding of one of the more effete nobles.

“Give me that,” he barked.

There was a quick discussion; the noble gave up his horse. Charles mounted… not too badly, under the circumstances. He looked like someone who knew how to ride, although not side-saddle. Everyone else remounted, and Erik brought Magneto close to the gray. 

“Stay close to me,” he said, giving Magneto a bit of rein. 

Charles looked at him, but did not reply.

The party followed the winding road down into the bottom of the valley, moving at a better clip than Erik had been able to urge them to earlier that morning. The road came to run alongside the narrow but quick-flowing stream that irrigated the valley, until it went underground, to come up again inside the walls of the Sanctuary. As they drew close, monks, their brown cowls pushed back as they worked tilling the gardens outside the gate, looked up, bowed when they saw Erik, and then stared in astonishment. 

“Charles,” he heard one murmur to another, and then that one to another, until the whisper was carried from where they stood, to the gate of the Sanctuary. The monk stationed there was already working to open the heavy outer doors, so that the horses could enter.

The Sanctuary courtyard was considerably smaller than that of the Castle. It was bustling with life: in addition to being a center of scholarship, the omega monks who inhabited the sanctuary were the best herbalists, brewers, and bakers for more than a day’s ride, and the space was full of a mixed of smells: yeast, warm bread, clean earth and scrubbed stone, as well as the innocent, slightly child-like smell that a lot of unmated omegas together could produce. It only made the scent coming off Erik, and Charles beside him, stronger in contrast: all heads turned towards them, noses delicately sniffing the air, and the whispering that had preceded them rose in pitch around them.

A female omega in white robes, made of finer material than the coarse brown stuff worn by her compatriots, came out to meet the party. Erik did not know the Prioress Frost particularly well. She was very young to have achieved the position of Prioress: not more than thirty years old if she was a day, her long blond hair was styled with an elegance better suited to the mate of one of his courtiers than a religious leader. It was widely believed that Frost had gained her position through political influence (her family was among the most powerful of the Southern clans) and that she had chosen to become the leader of this particular Sanctuary because of her liking for politics and her desire to be near the court itself. She was not a not entirely uncommon guest at Erik’s table, an invitation he could not have avoided issuing without insulting her family. 

What Erik cared little about, although it bothered some the conservative members of his court a great deal, was that Emma Frost, despite being the head of a celibate omega order, was clearly not virginal herself. Her scent, and the mating mark high on her shoulder, completely negated this possibility. When she had first arrived in the area, Frost had let her story pass (intentionally, Erik assumed) to a few particularly gossipy members of the court: she had been young, and mated against her will, and entirely by accident, to a commoner very much below her station. Moreover, the alpha proved in time to be cruel and abusive: eventually she had refused to remain with her mate, turning instead to a religious life. Something about Frost had always lead Erik to feel the story was suspect, although it was a common enough thing for families to do when their omegas accidentally formed mating bonds with unsuitable alphas. 

“Charles!” The Prioress said when she caught site of Erik’s bedraggled omega. Then she took in the whole party, Shaw, and Erik, and said, “Your Majesty.” 

“Prioress,” Erik said, civilly, but then was not sure what to say next. For once, he was grateful when Shaw intervened, coming to stand beside him.

“Wonderful and unexpected news, Prioress. It seems his Highness has found a mate.”

A few monks came over, apparently with the intention of helping Charles dismount. Erik could not stop himself from baring his teeth at them. Both Frost and Shaw looked amused by this. 

“Perhaps it would be best to let the Prioress and me arrange matters for you, your Highness,” Shaw suggested to Erik. “You are obviously fatigued and, if you don’t mind my saying so, perhaps not yet thinking clearly.”

Erik’s impulse was to snap a refusal, but the mere sight of the omegas monks sidling towards his mate was enough to set his teeth on edge. Charles was a monk, which meant technically his guardian, who would have to accept the match and release him from his obligations to the Sanctuary, was the Prioress. In this case it would be an entirely ceremonial negotiation, but even so, it was probably too much for Erik to manage, when even a few feet of distance between himself and the omega caused him to feel like ants were tiptoeing up and down his spine.

“Thank you, Prime Minister,” Erik said, defeated. He managed to hold himself back as Charles dismounted, and the monks came and surrounded him, leading him into the Sanctuary.

“Charles can have a bath, and rest,” the Prioress told him, politely but firmly. “You may wait in our assembly hall, until he is ready.” Then she turned to Shaw. “Please join me in my study.”

 

 

Emma’s perfectly calm demeanor didn’t falter until the heaven oak door of her study was shut, and bolted, behind the two of them. Then she turned towards Shaw, and let her annoyance show on her face.

“My dear girl,” said Shaw, “I can’t help but think that you’re up to something.” He smiled coldly. “Tell me, why on Earth did you allow an omega in heat even a meter outside the Sanctuary walls?”

She accepted his accusation with a quick flick of her wrist. “It wouldn’t mean much to you, but the omega the king has gone and mated was meant for another alpha entirely.” She sat down in a comfortable chair in a manner that caused her soft white robes to outline her curves particularly well. “Charles Xavier? Don’t tell me you didn’t catch the name.”

Shaw looked at her for a long moment, and then nodded. “Xavier? Yes, of course I remember him: a very wealthy man.”

“Quite.” Emma said. “But you’re thinking of the father, who passed away several years ago. Charles is the son.” She paused, playing with her string of onyx rosary beads. “Xaver’s omega found a new mate, Lord Kurt Marko. Who, you may also remember, has a very distinguished pedigree, but no money at all.”

“Xavier’s money passed to Charles, and not to his mate?” Shaw asked, and now his smile was a little warmer. Emma could see that he really was interested in her story. She responded with a coy shrug.

“Exactly. But Lord Marko still hoped to keep it in the family by marrying Charles to his son, Cain. Apparently he planned it from the time they were boys, but Charles must have disagreed. He ran away from home before his first heat, and by the time they’d tracked him down, several years later, he was here, already an ordained member of the order.” She wrapped her fingers on the arm of her chair and gave Shaw a secret little smile. “Bad luck for Lord Marko. What do you think he did next?”

Shaw drew closer, and leant over the chair, caging her in.

“You sold Charles out, didn’t you?” He whispered, his mouth so close to her ear that she could feel each word. She shivered with pleasure, and then twisted around, until their faces to only inches apart. 

“At any moment I expect Cain Marko to return. After several hours stomping around the countryside looking for his brother, he’ll probably be in a bad mood, and perhaps feel rather cheated.” She pantomimed a disappointed expression. “Don’t worry, I’ve left instructions for him to be taken down to the kitchens when he arrives, and kept distracted until your party leaves. By the way, where did the King find Charles? I sent him to gather herbs in the fields below the river.”

“He was up on the ridge.”

Emma took that in, and sighed, and then smiled again at Shaw. “He never does listen. And now his fortune belongs to the king, who doesn’t even need it! Well, I’ll let you take Charles with you, on one condition.”

“What’s that, my dear?”

She settled even deeper into the chair and looked up at him, a wicked gleam in her eye. “You know what I want.”

Shaw let a finger trail down her forehead, over the shell of her ear, the curve of her neck, and then ran it along her collarbone, before letting it dip into her deep white cowl. 

“I think,” he said, “that might be arranged.”

 

 

Charles had known most of the monks of the Sanctuary for years: he had arrived there as boy of fourteen, and prayed and worked alongside most of them.

But now they watched him with a nervous apprehension, and he felt too feverish and disoriented to talk or joke with them until they remembered their familiarity. 

He allowed himself to be led along, until he realized that they were taking him towards the visitor’s suites, instead of to his own familiar cell. 

“No,” he said, pulling back. One of the brothers took his sleeve and tugged. 

“I’m sorry, Charles.” 

The Sanctuary proper, which included the living space of the monks, was meant for members of the order only. Charles knew what this meant: he was being cast out, to live with… his mate, and the thought of that was still confusing. Who was that man and why should he be expected to mean anything to Charles?

“I want sanctuary,” he croaked, but the monks just looked at him pityingly.

The visitor’s quarters to which they drew him were the largest and most lavish the Sanctuary had to offer: the room that the Prioress lent only to visiting nobility. Brother Hank closed the door behind them and set to work, building up a fire, bringing forth the large copper bath, and asking the monks to begin carrying hot water from the kitchens at once. Charles sat on the bed, watching them, trying to gather his thoughts and to fight the feeling of dizziness rising up in him.

“I’m sorry, Charles,” Brother Hank said again. “But your mate – you know that Prioress Frost could never allow you to stay.”

“Erik,” Charles said, for he had remembered the name. Why did that sound so familiar to him? When the gray, oily man had seen them together, he had called him ‘your Highness’.

“Oh,” Charles said, and bent over, nearly throwing up on the well-polished floor. “Not the king!”

Hank raised an eyebrow. “You only just noticed?”

Hank was younger than Charles, and had arrived very much as Charles had, a studious young omega seeking a quiet place to work and pursue his academic interests, hidden from the outside world. He had reminded Charles very much of himself, and so Charles had been the one to introduce him to the rhythm of life at the Sanctuary, and show him where the best books were kept. He had even keep vigil over Hank’s early heats.

But now it was Hank who wiped a cloth gently over Charles’ forehead, helped him to remove that ridiculous tunic, and leant his shoulder until Charles could slide into the warm bath. The water was a relief, and Charles let his head drop back against the tub, finally breathing more easily. 

“Mated,” Charles groaned. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“What the Prioress did-” murmured Hank angrily. Charles shot him a quick glance, reminding him of the other omegas still in the room. Frost had eyes and ears everywhere.

“It’s done,” Charles said, firmly. 

When he finished his bath, the water was brown with dirt and dried blood. Charles was patted dry, and helped to dress.

“Do you think you can walk now?” said Brother Hank.

Charles nodded.

“I’ll send your books to the castle,” he said, urgently. “And anything else – send word, anything, and we will send it-”

“Keep the books,” Charles said. “They’re yours.” They were one thing he wasted the Xavier money on, and he had built up an admirable private collection in his small monastic cell. Hank’s eyes widened.

“I’ll keep them for you,” he said, softly. He looked confused, and heartbroken, and young. It made Charles hide his own fear a little better.

“It will be alright, Hank,” he promised. Then he straightened his shoulders. “Let’s go and meet the king.”

 

 

It was more than an hour before Shaw returned from the rooms of the Prioress, looking self-satisfied. For all that time, Erik had been kept away from his mate, and now he was nearly mad from stress of it. He had paced back and forth across the Sanctuary assembly hall dozens of times, and if there had been any doubt in his mind as to whether or not the bite had taken, it was gone. He needed to get back to Charles. His whole body was consumed by it, his skin and even his eyes felt itchy with the need of it, like an allergic reaction gone wrong. He did not know where Charles was, where they had taken him, he was beginning to fear some kind of plot: that they had lied to Erik, and were even now stealing Charles away from him.

The nobles that had accompanied him had spent the past hour standing by the door to the hall, watching him warily. At the slightest sign of movement from Erik two would move to block the door, and the others would rush forward to subdue him. From their whispering, he knew that they thought he was well and truly taken by the mating fever. Erik calmed himself by committing each of their faces to memory: he intended to punish them suitably in the days to come. 

When Shaw entered, Erik was on his feet at once. 

“Tell me!” he demanded.

“Be calm, your Highness. The negotiations have gone well and they are bringing your omega to you as we speak.”

Erik growled with impatience, but then the doors opened again, and Prioress entered, with a retinue of monks behind her. In the midst of them was Charles, wearing what looked like one of the Prioress’s clean white robes. He walked steadily, his gaze modestly lowered. Erik felt relief, and bolted towards him, the monks scattering in his wake.

Charles took a quick, startled step backwards, before controlling himself, and standing to meet Erik. Erik wanted to take his hand, but it remained firmly at Charles’ side. He stared stupidly at Charles. 

“My mate,” he said, formally.

Charles looked up in surprise, and finally met Erik’s gaze. He looked confused for a moment, as if trying to remember the appropriate response.

“I know,” Charles said, softly, and then, “my mate.”

The courtiers and nobles behind them giggled, someone cooed. 

“We should return to the castle,” Erik said, “before it grows late.” 

Charles nodded, and then waited. For a moment, Erik was unsure why. Then Shaw coughed, and Erik remembered protocol. He walked first from the room, and saw from the corner of his eye Charles turning to follow two paces behind him.

 

 

The ride back to the castle was as quick as they could make it without causing undue discomfort to Charles. Erik kept Magneto near to the side of the gray gelding and wished he could have put Charles onto Magneto’s back, instead, tucked against him. Then again, maybe that would not have been wise: just looking at Charles was enough to make him think of their rut. The next one would be better: in Erik’s bedchamber, with a warm fire, a proper mattress, and smooth sheets. He wouldn’t like to see Charles’ knees and hands scratched again. He caught himself nearly growling, just at the thought of it, and had to tear his gaze away from Charles a moment in order to regain some sense of himself.

His omega remained very quiet. A mating affected an omega just as much as an alpha, it was said – Charles should had desired renewed contact just as much as Erik. But he did not look at Erik, or attempt to steer the gray gelding closer to Magneto. He didn’t look at the scenery, either, or pay any attention to the occasional still-excited whispering of the rest of the party.

Eric had rarely thought of taking a mate. When he did, it was mostly in the sense of how to avoid it. He was young, after all, and his country needed a general out at the edges of the kingdom, protecting it and garnering new territory. That was the proper job of a young, unmated king, and Erik had thought he had years yet before some political alliance made it advantageous to attempt to mate. 

However, now that it had happened, he did not feel unsatisfied with it. It would take time to get to know his mate, it was true. He hoped Charles would not turn out to be gossipy, or flittered-witted, or irritating in any other of the million little ways omegas so often could be. Although Erik reminded himself that it scarcely mattered if he was: an omega was there to warm the bedroom, and bear and raise the children, and once the rush of their mating had subsided, Erik could spend as much or as little time with him, outside of those activities, as he chose. Anyway, he didn’t think that his omega would be flitter-witted. Perhaps it was just the infatuation of mating making him feel so, but still, it seemed to him that Charles would be everything Erik could hope for. It might not even be wishful thinking on his part: strong, spontaneous matings often resulted in especially well-matched couples.

 

 

They reached the castle in early evening, with still an hour of light in the sky. Somehow the word had gotten ahead of them to court: everyone was out, waiting to see the face of the King’s mate. Charles, however, was drooping in his saddle, clearly again in the throes of heat. He nearly fell, dismounting, and that decided Erik – he scooped the omega up into his arms, and headed inside, moving towards the door of his private chambers. Behind him, he heard considerable excitement – let Shaw deal with it, he thought, uncaring. 

A servant skittered in front of him to unlock his door just in time: Erik pushed his way in, went to the bedroom, lay Charles on top of the bed, and the proceeded to climb on top of him. Charles stilled and then squirmed, a warm, smaller body beneath him.

“What are you doing?” he asked confusedly. His eyes were milky blue, and his pupils wide. It had been too long already.

Erik kissed him on the side of the mouth, and then raised himself to tug at his tunic and vest.

“What does it look like?” He said. He managed to remove his upper layers, and then started working at his trousers. “Take that bloody thing off,” he ordered, gesturing towards Frost’s white robe.

Charles raised himself on his elbows, and then rolled, pitching towards the side of the bed. “No,” he said.

“No?” Erik said, confused. 

“I don’t want-” said the omega, scrambling further away. The ridiculous white robe momentarily tangled his limbs, but he managed to make it off the side of the bed, swaying as he stood. His face was red and he smelled aroused. 

Eric stared at him. “What are you talking about?” He said. Charles was clearly confused, heat-addled, and didn’t understand well what was happening. “You want to – I can smell it on you.”

“I don’t,” said Charles, but his voice broke into a whine. He was staring at Erik’s mouth with a kind of hungry expression. 

“You do,” Erik said, with certainty. “You’ll feel better once we do. Come back here.”

Charles looked confused. “I’m not normally like this,” he said, wavering.

“Of course not, neither am I. Come here-” Erik’s patience was breaking. He reached for Charles and managed to catch him by the robes, tugging him forward. When Charles was back on the bed again, sitting in front of him, Erik made him raise his arms and then lifted the layers of white wool off over his head, dropping them on the floor, silently resolving that his mate would never wear such a thing again.

Erik removed his own clothing as well, and knelt on the bed next to Charles. His mate’s body had the pale, lithe shape of a scholar: it was muscled but finely so. Erik couldn’t take his eyes off of him: he longed to bite and kiss his white neck, grasp him by the hips and press his thumbs into them until they bruised.

He let his gaze wander downward and then back up again. Charles was staring at him, the blown-out expression of his eyes becoming more pronounced, and Erik felt a rush of pride and possession. Charles had probably never seen an Alpha naked before. Erik was sure he had never seen an alpha like him. 

He leaned in to kiss Charles, and Charles let him, rather dazedly for a moment, and then, as Erik pushed in, exploring his mouth, he kissed back, tentatively, as if he was still learning the process. It made Erik proud, realizing he was the only one to teach Charles these things. He let a hand trail down and ran an index finger over one of Charles’ nipples: he startled and then pressed into Erik even more, arching his back towards him, the pert little nipple growing pronounced under Erik’s teasing finger.

He was on the point of telling Charles to turn around, but decided to be more inventive. Spreading his legs to form a good seat he lowered his hands to Charles’ bottom, traced faint patterns there as he continued to kiss him, and enjoyed the feeling of his skin jumping under the touch.

“Erik,” Charles said, “Erik!” He whined, and Erik saw that he still hadn’t learned what he was whining for. He loved that innocence, loved being the one to see it and then to take it away. 

Taking a firmer grasp on Charles’ buttocks he pulled him forward, nudging his legs wide and around so that they were flush against each other. Their members were almost touching, so Erik lowered a hand between them, catching both of them in a wide grasp, and let Charles rub against him, raising himself up and down slightly, holding onto Erik’s shoulders for leverage. The expression in Charles’ eyes was so dazed and pleasure-struck, that Erik could have laughed in joy. He nudged Charles higher still, feeling for the dripping, slightly swollen entrance, and guided the head of his penis towards it. Charles opened his eyes still wider when he felt it splitting him, and for a moment he was poised, seemingly not sure if he ought to pull away, or bear down.

Erik made the choice for him, canting his own hips up to push deeper into Charles, and Charles let out a cry, and let gravity drop him into Erik’s lap. He cried louder when the full length pressed into him.

It would be short again. Charles hadn’t learned yet how to fuck himself on Erik’s dick, so he just sat there, looking at Erik as if he was asking what to do. Erik laughed again and leaned in for a kiss, but somehow found himself licking the side of Charles’ mouth, cat-like, instead, until it opened for him. He managed a few shallow thrusts, but the sensation of being buried deep within Charles, his inner walls massaging him so pleasingly, meant his knot expanded rapidly, tying them together like that, face to face, until Erik, with an effort, toppled them over so that they were lying together on the bed instead.

He could actually see Charles’ expression clearing as the wave of fever receded, growing from hazy with lust to hazy with sleep. They stayed tied for a long time, Erik occasionally feeling himself hardening and coming again, several times before the knot receded, and he pulled out of his mate, tumbling into the darkness of sleep beside him. 

 

 

Charles slept the thick, heavy sleep of someone recovering from an illness. When he woke, early morning sunlight was arching through the cracks of closed shutters. Then bed he lay on was richly covered in silks and down quilts, and smelled of Charles, and someone else, richly mingled together. 

There was a hand on his hip, moving in a long, lazy stroke, finally turning and trailing back towards his shoulder.

Charles must have gone tense as soon as he noticed the touch, because he heard a sigh, and then the hand withdrew. 

He opened his eyes to find a man lying in the bed beside him. He was about Charles’ age, or a bit older, and he was looking at Charles with an expression of such obvious, open desire, that Charles felt lost. It took a moment of blinking, before the events of the day before came rushing back to him, with the slight hazy qualities of memories that heat, like drunkenness, could produce. Then he remembered being bitten, teeth sinking into his neck, deeper and sharper than the bite an omega, or a beta, would be able to produce.

His mate. The king. Erik Lehnsherr.

Charles sat up abruptly, wincing at the pain that followed.

“There,” said the stranger, “Stop that. Be careful.” He pulled Charles’ shoulder, urging him to lie down again. Charles pulled away. A wave of nausea followed the sudden movement, he held himself still until it passed.

In the throes of heat, the situation had seemed bad enough. Now, in the cold, clear light of day, it was definitely worse. He was mated. To an alpha he knew nothing about. He risked a glance over his shoulder, and saw that he was being regarded with a mixture of confusion, and amusement. As Charles stared, the look on his face began to turn to irritation.

“Don’t look at me like that,” said the alpha (Erik, Charles reminded himself). “I didn’t ask for this either.” 

“Why did you bite me?” Charles asked, hoarsely.

Erik frowned. He sat up, revealing a bare chest, well-muscled, with a broad scar over the shoulder, and Charles felt another burst of panic – they were naked. “It just happened. I’ve never had an omega’s heat hit me like that.”

“I wasn’t even-” Charles protested, stupidly. “I should have had time.”

“Well, clearly you miscalculated.” The king snapped. “You should consider yourself lucky; you could have gotten yourself mated to the village idiot.”

Charles nearly snapped back reflexively that he wasn’t sure that he hadn’t been, but a glance at the alpha’s face made him swallow the comment.

He stood, pulling off a blanket to wrap around himself by way of modesty, and winced at the wetness he felt trickle out of him. From Erik’s smirk, he guessed that the king smelled it as well.

“Come back to bed,” Erik said, coaxingly. “We have all day to… get to know each other better.”

Charles treated the euphemism with the derision it deserved. “I would like to wash,” he said, firmly. 

He regarded the white robes bundled on the floor for a moment and added, “And a change of clothing, if you please.”

The king looked mulish for a moment, but then he sighed. “Fine.”

 

 

It was impossible to think clearly in the presence of the – his – alpha. Even knowing he was on the other side of the door was terribly distracting. Charles looked around the small water closet. There was a large bathtub, but it had not been filled, but there was a dry sink that contained a very large pitcher of water, and soap. He washed himself as well as he could, with that, scrubbing at his skin and everywhere the scent of sex and the alpha clung heavily too him. Wincing, he even reached a hand down between his legs, doing his best to evacuate whatever remained of the prior evening’s activities.

It wasn’t even only the alpha’s scent, he realized – he smelled different to himself as well. He smelled like a mated person. Charles counted to ten, forcing himself to relax, and tried to put his thoughts in order.

First, there had been his impending heat, which always put him in a bad mood, twitchy and bloated by turns. Then, there was the strange behavior of Prioress Frost, who had appeared in Charles’ workshop that morning, and ordered him to go the river in search of the root of a particular plant. Her story that it was desperately needed and that he was the only one with the nose to find it, had sounded simple enough. But Charles was young, not stupid. There had been that visit of his stepfather’s to the Sanctuary only the fortnight before… he had not called on Charles, but the monks had seen him and mentioned the visit to him. 

Charles had thought there was still time before his heat began in earnest, so he had risked it, but he had gone towards the hills, where the root could also be found, and where the chance of encountering anyone else was lower, instead of to the river as Frost had instructed him. 

He had been caught anyway. 

It hardly seemed fair. All his careful planning to avoid being mated, and now he found himself tied, in spite of it all, to a complete stranger. Not only that, but to a powerful, and therefore a dangerous man. 

Charles hated to imagine what all the castle-folk must have (correctly) thought when they saw their king dragging Charles off to his bedchambers upon their arrival, but he had been too addled to prevent it. But the coupling had been… intense. He could feel his ears turning red as he considered it. Sex was just sex, he reminded himself firmly: a simple biological process. He had never been one of those members of the order who subscribed to the idea that it was something frightening, or ashamed of. It was supposed to feel good, when you had a compatible partner, and in fact it had felt very, very good.

Although his senses had still been too addled to understand, or fully consent, to what they had done. In the first coupling, his alpha had been trapped by the fever too. It had been frightening, and thinking about it left Charles anxious, but intellectually, he understood it. In the second case, Erik would have been more in control of himself. But by then Charles was his mated omega, and so his body had been Erik’s right… any alpha would have behaved the same. But thinking so did not entirely soothe Charles.

 

 

He left the bath only after he had used most of the water at his disposal. He dried slowly, and then tucked himself into a warm, soft robe that some servant had kindly left in a corner. 

When he opened the door to the bedroom, the alpha was nearly just as he had left him – naked, sitting in bed, looking at Charles as if he’d been staring at the bathroom door the whole time, waiting for him to come out.

“You took a long time,” he said, sounding frustrated. “What were you doing in there? Why have you been cleaning my scent off of you?”

“I was dirty,” Charles said, simply. “Do you want the bathroom?”

“No,” he fussed. “Come here.” He saw Charles’ hesitation. “Look,” he said, “I understand that this is new to you, but you’ll feel much better once you come here and let me touch you. I’m not a monster.”

“Of course not,” said Charles, but his voice sounded uncertain in his own ears.

The king rose. Unlike Charles, he didn’t bother to tug a sheet over himself for modesty. When he stretched he showed every corner of his body: well-formed shoulders, asymmetric in the long, jagged scar that ran down over one and not the other, a flat, well-defined stomach, and his large dark penis, which, flaccid, still looked frightening large. It was hard to imagine that it had been inside Charles. When he finally forced his eyes away and upwards, the alpha was smirking at him, a look that sent Charles’ face burning. The king stepped forward. Charles steeled himself and held his ground.

“I’m your alpha now,” Erik said, his voice gentle and cajoling, as if he were speaking to a child. “I’ll take care of you, you don’t need to worry. But you need to trust me, and do as I say.”

“What?” said Charles, “No. That is – I don’t want that…” It was hard enough to think, given the heavy scent in the room, but with Erik standing only a hand’s breath away, it became nearly impossible. He shook his head, trying to think how to phrase it better.

“Most omegas would be pleased to find themselves mated to me,” the King said. “You’re very lucky-” He reached out a hand, as if to cup Charles’ cheek. Charles took a swift step back. 

“Don’t touch me!” He said, startled.

The king stared at him, irritated. “Fine!” He snapped, and then brushed past Charles, into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

He only stayed inside a minute before emerging again. 

“Did you know how many omegas in heat have thrown themselves at me, hoping I would mark them?” He said angrily. “This is much worse for me than for you. I’m stuck with a mate from nowhere, while you’ve just become one of the most important omegas in the Kingdom!” He scowled suspiciously.

“You must be joking,” Charles retorted, pulling his bathrobe around himself, affronted. “I was happy with my life as it was.”

“Well, my apologies if being mated to me is so terrible!” The king scooped up his trousers from the floor, yanked them on, and threw on a jacket, glaring at Charles all the time.

Charles felt himself goggling. He wasn’t sure how their conversation had turned into an argument, and he had no idea what he was supposed to say. He allowed himself to slump into a chair, defeated. The king apparently took that as answer enough.

“Fine!” He said, and stormed out of the room. 

 

 

Charles sat, waiting for Erik to return, for a long time. Finally a maid came, with some food, and a covered teapot. She slid her tray onto a small table in the corner of the room and disappeared, as quick and silent as a mouse. 

Gradually his thoughts cleared and he began to feel more himself. He got up, and looked about until he saw some clothing that had been left folded on a chair – probably for him, when he shook it out, he saw it was a tunic, of a pale golden color, cut with the longer, fuller skirt that was in fashion with omegas in recent years. He slid it over his head: the sleeves had a slit up the side, probably designed to be decorative, that simply meant they would drag in his soup.

He went to the table. The teapot proved to be full of a very strong, satisfying herbal brew: Charles was just pouring his second cup when the door to the chamber opened. A young man walked in and then stopped, seemingly confused.

He looked at Charles, and Charles looked back.

“I’m sorry!” He said. “I was looking for the King.”

“He’s not here,” Charles told him. 

“No,” said the young man. “You’re the – um - one who arrived yesterday, aren’t you?”

“Charles.” 

The man grimaced. “He’ll kill me for disturbing you!”

“So we won’t mention it to him?” Charles suggested. “Who are you, by the way?”

The boy was already edging towards the door: the flare of his nostrils suggesting that he’d caught the scent of the bed.

“Alex,” He muttered. “So I probably shouldn’t be alone with you. I’ll just be on my way.”

But Charles, faster, decided that someone to ask questions to might be just the thing. 

“Stop!” He said, and put on his most pleading expression. “I’ve only just gotten here and I don’t know anybody – can’t you have a cup of tea with me and maybe explain the castle a little bit? You probably know everything,” He added, lowering his head and looking up at the man in a manner he hoped was endearing.

It must have worked, more or less, - or maybe the young fellow had just been hungry – because it didn’t take too much more convincing to get him over to the breakfast table, sitting cheerfully (although with occasional wary glances towards the door) across from Charles, drinking little tea but shoveling pretty impressive quantities of buttered toast into his mouth. 

Alex told Charles that he was from one of the larger towns in the kingdom. He and his younger brother had been sent the castle as a page several years ago. Alex had received his knighthood when Erik became the king, and ridden with him on several campaigns already.

Charles was impressed, and said so, and Alex puffed up with the compliment. He seemed like a nice boy, the sort who outwardly seemed not to care what others thought of him but inwardly was eager for approval. Perhaps a little like Hank in that particular regard. Cautiously, Charles asked about the king.

“King Erik!” Alex said. “He’s got this way of staring at you that makes you freeze on the spot. If it was a choice between a hundred men with swords in front of me, and only him at my back, I’d go forward. I can’t explain it – he’s, he’s -”

He then proceeded to Charles several stories about occasions upon which Charles’ new mate had punished his men for inebriation, forced them into unpleasant work, or led them into dangerous battles against larger enemy forces. Instead of causing the men to hate him, as Charles would have expected, these experiences had clearly turned Alex, and the rest of the King’s army, into Erik’s dogs: utterly loyal to him even as they shook their heads admiringly over their monarch’s insanity.

Well, thought Charles, dubiously, at least he can lead his men.

Once the toast was gone he let the young alpha escape, and then walked about the room, looking at the decorations (many) and books (few) before becoming bored, and deciding he might as well go outside and see what was waiting for him there.

The door of the room entered onto a corridor, which ended in a grand staircase on one end and a much tinier, twistier staircase down at the other. Charles decided to take that one. Sure enough, it led him down into a pantry, with one door that probably passed, from the rich smells and cheerful sounds emanating from it, towards the kitchens, and another that led out of doors.

Charles chose the second and stepped out into a small herb garden. The sharp scents of rosemary, parsley, and dill played in the air, rich as the plants breathed in the sunlight.

Farther out there were beds of black earth, ready for sewing, and there was a gardener bent over them. Charles looked dubiously at the thin slippers, left with the tunic, that he was wearing, and toed them off. The earth felt cool and satisfying on his bare feet, when he stepped into it, ambling towards the gardener.

It was a young woman, a beta, her brown hair clipped back in a neat bun. She was so focused on her work that she didn’t notice Charles until he had come very close.

“Hello,” he said, cheerfully. 

“Hello,” she said, glancing up and giving him a quick once over. Judging by her expression of polite deference, Charles guessed she was one of the servants, and had sized Charles up as somebody noble. It was the clothing.

He leaned over to better see what she was doing. “Peas?” he asked, surprised. “Isn’t it a little early in the season for that?”

She barked with laughter, before she could stop herself. “I didn’t expect you to say that,” she said, apologizing. “My lord.”

“It’s perfectly alright. They are pea plants, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but I’m trying something different this year. I’ve crossed them with a northern strain – this row goes in this week, the next a week later, and the last row, in a fortnight.”

“Very methodical,” Charles said appreciatively. “The northern strain is heartier? I lose a lot of peas to frost.”

“The timing is tricky, isn’t it?” She gave him another once over, this time more carefully. “Do you enjoy gardening, my lord?” 

“Yes, a great deal. And I enjoy the methodical approach as well. For instance, in the last several years I’ve been in the process of cross-pollinating quinic flowers, to concentrate their medicinal properties.” 

“I never thought of that. I haven’t any training in herb-craft myself, but that does make sense.” She sounded intrigued, and asked a few more questions, and soon she and Charles were chattering back and forth as happily as old friends.

“I’m Moira, by the way,” she told him, after a few minutes, rising and wiping her soil-covered hands on her apron. 

“Charles,” Charles said. Her eyes widened. 

“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, I didn’t realize.” She began to drop into a curtsy, which to Charles seemed so ridiculous that he said, “Oh, don’t be silly,” and bent too, intending to stop her somehow, with the effect that their heads banged together.

“Ow!” She yelped. 

“Oh dear,” Charles said, rubbing his forehead ruefully. They stared at each other a moment. Charles couldn’t help himself, he laughed, and Moira laughed with him. 

From the direction of the castle, someone yelled, “Your Highness! Your Highness!” 

It was Alex, the young knight, with two other knights beside him. They ran out to him.

“Thank Goodness,” Alex said. “The King has been looking everywhere for you. He’s really angry.” He looked nervous. “We’d better go back at once.”

Charles shot Moira a quick, apologetic look, and let the knights lead him off.

 

 

Erik’s day had begun excellently, but quickly soured. He had risen early, as was his habit, to the sight of Charles nestled beside him, still sleeping quietly, sweetly smelling: the living image of a sweet, docile omega, tired out after a night of pleasure. Erik had stayed in bed, drinking in the scent and the smell of him, as the morning sun stole over their bed.

Asleep, his mate was delightful. But awake - Erik felt angry, hurt and confused, when he remembered it. He was sure that Charles had not wished to be mated: well, that was natural enough; he would not have joined the order if he had planned to. Erik hadn’t planned on mating with Charles either. Still, it had happened, they must make the best of it. And Erik -Erik wanted Charles, but Charles, clearly, did not feel the same.

The feeling of rejection folded into anger. Erik might not have planned this mating, but he had been kind to Charles regardless. A proper omega would have been grateful, and eager, and overwhelmed by Erik’s presence and attention.

Unsure what to do with himself after having left his rooms so abruptly, and without being properly dressed, he headed to the stables, as he often did when he needed to clear his head. Magneto had already been groomed, but it did not hurt to run the curry comb over his shoulders a few more passes. The stallion whickered and nudged at Erik’s shoulders, enjoying the attention. At least someone did, Erik thought, resentfully, remember the note of fear in Charles’ scent, and the way he had twisted away when Erik had tried to touch him. And the way his blue eyes had flashed. And the way his slim frame looked, only half-hidden by the ridiculous blanket he’d been dragging around in front of him for modesty…

He felt himself longing to return already. His mate was young and confused. Erik would be patient with him, and teach him what it meant to be a royal consort. Then surely Charles would be calm, and realize what a great gift was being offered, and, Erik envisioned, fall into his arms appropriately. 

With this pleasant idea in mind he left the stables. But on his way back to his rooms, he was waylaid by Shaw. Why the man thought he had the right to disturb Erik the day after he’d been mated was a mystery, and he made no effort to hide his annoyance when Shaw began to make several suggestions of things he felt Erik ought to deal with immediately.

“Later,” he had growled, expecting that to be the end of it.

But, to his surprise, Shaw stood his ground, shaking his head as if Erik was being the unreasonable one.

“Your Highness,” he said. “The work of the kingdom never ends. I understand your desire to hurry back to your mate,” his accompanying leer was unpleasant, “but we have work to do. As I’m sure you realize, your mating is likely to destabilize our alliance with Lord Antony Stark to the north. It’s extremely unfortunate that you were unable to prevent yourself from marking this monk, it’s wasted years of my effort.” He had the gall to look chiding, as if he expected Erik to apologize to him.

Erik, who up until that point had still been walking towards his rooms, ignoring Shaw, stopped and spun around sharply.

“Thank you, Prime Minster,” he said. “But my mating is none of your concern.”

Rather than backing down, Shaw rose to his full height, and took a step closer to Erik. Erik had the urge to step back, he squelched it firmly. He was no longer a boy, to be dominated by the likes of Shaw. He held Shaw’s gaze, until the point when Shaw was forced, by custom, to look away.

“I’ve held this kingdom for you for ten years,” hissed Shaw, finally.

“And I am grateful,” said Erik. “For all you have done for us since the death of my parents. But I am an adult now, and have been for several years. You are my advisor, not the Regent.”

Shaw seemed to be on the point of saying something regrettable. Instead he paused, looking at Erik with a stony expression, than finally collapsed into a false smile. “Of course, your Highness.” He bowed his head. “Sometimes I forget you are no longer a boy. My apologies.”

“Of course.” 

Shaw turned and took a step away, but then he paused. “You should know, Sire,” he said, “That what you have done until now has not really been ruling. You ride about with your knights, fighting wars. But I am the one who makes sure that the villages of the kingdom send grain to feed your army, and men to fill it.”

Erik did not reply, and after a moment Shaw smiled obsequiously again, and left him alone.

 

 

When he finally returned to his rooms, then, they were empty, although the clothes he had had sent for Charles were gone, and the remains of a breakfast left on the table. He looked around for the omega in almost a stupid way, checking behind curtains and doors, feeling his stress mounting considerably with each moment that he failed to find him. Could he have been kidnapped? Erik could imagine no enemy capable of such a thing, situated within the castle so as to do so. But then, who had him? Where had he gone? Perhaps some of the omega members of the court had taken him somewhere – 

“Alex!” He called, sticking his head outside the door. “Darwin! Sean!” 

The knights came running, and he explained what had happened. “We must find him at once.”

So it was with a certain amount of anger – the kind that comes from having been scared badly and then realizing it was for nothing – that his omega was discovered, retrieved, and brought to stand in front of him, a quarter of an hour later.

Irritatingly, Charles seemed to feel that he had done nothing wrong.

“I didn’t give you permission to go wandering about!” Erik snapped.

“What should I have been doing, then?” 

Waiting for Erik, obviously, but Erik refused to say so. Darwin, Sean, and Alex were only a few feet away, all pretending not to be interested. 

“Thank you,” Erik told them, icily, “for retrieving my mate. You may go.”

They left. Erik took Charles by the arm and led him back to his – now their – chambers.

“Stay here when I’m not around,” Erik told him, firmly. 

“You can’t be serious.” His mate looked worried. “I’d be bored out of my mind.”

“Then I’ll find someone to chaperone you on walks.”

His scent when Erik had first pulled him up had been tinged with fear. That hadn’t changed, but it wasn’t particularly visible from Charles’ expression. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Erik as if he was very reasonable, and Erik was insane.

“Surely your castle is safe,” he said.

“Of course it is,” Erik barked. 

“Then what is your concern?” Actually, Erik hadn’t thought that out carefully. He ought to know where Charles was – that wasn’t unreasonable. Before he had a chance to say so, Charles added, “It would seem very strange to people if I never left the room.”

“That isn’t what I meant!” 

“Well, then, we’re agreed. If you need me, you can send a man to look for me, just like you did today.”

He ought to have been angry again with Charles – putting an omega over one’s knee and spanking them was considered to be a good way to teach domestic obedience – but instead Erik found himself distracted by Charles’ red lips, and the longish hair which curled around his ears and over his forehead. He reached out to take Charles’ wrist, which his mate permitted, although he felt his pulse jump skyward. The soft skin of his wrist felt silky under Erik’s fingers. With the contact, the irritation that had been building in him since morning began to dissipate. Well, it had been rather unreasonable of him to suggest that Charles stay in their chambers all day, never moving…

He could smell the change in his omega’s scent, as well: half-wary, half-aroused. It gave him satisfaction to know that the paradoxical creature was no less immune to Erik, than Erik was to him. Unfortunately, there was little chance to indulge themselves, at the moment.

“Ring for a maid to come and dress you,” he said, “something appropriate for the court.”

Charles looked surprised – and wasn’t he lovely like that, his blue eyes round and questioning. “I don’t like it either,” Erik added. 

He called for a bath and then, after the servants brought bucket after bucket of warm, fragrant water, shucked his clothing, noting with amusement how Charles kept his gaze stubbornly turned away.


	2. Chapter 2

The maid was young, with a pretty face and soft blond hair. Charles chatted with her as she fussed about him: her name was Raven, and she was a foundling, who had been raised by one of the cooks in the palace. She was a sensible girl, and she coaxed and cajoled Charles into the clothing she had brought for him, which, in spite of being expensive, was uncomfortable and made him feel slightly ridiculous. In particular, he disliked the low boat neck collar, which left clearly visible the mark from Erik’s bite, and the tight lacing in the back, which forced his silhouette into more androgynous lines and also cut into him, making it difficult to breathe deeply. Still, he went along with it, and found himself, not very much later, standing beside his mate again, preparing to go down to the dining hall for what was, apparently, meant to be a banquet welcoming Charles and congratulating Erik.

Charles walked two paces behind Erik into the room, and then, when his mate beckoned to him, stood at his side. 

Erik, who by all rights ought to have been very comfortable with the event, since he had obviously been raised attending them, went stiffly down the row of chairs, from one well-dressed noble to another, listening to their polite congratulations while mostly staying silent in response. Perhaps being the king of a small country meant that you didn’t need to bother with politeness, Charles decided. For his part, the benefit of being a just-mated omega was that he was apparently expected to be shy – people mostly directed their comments about him to Erik.

When he caught sight of Alex and one of the other knights standing at parade rest along one wall, he risked a wink at them. His companion merely raised an eyebrow, but Alex stifled a laugh, so Charles counted it as a win.

Finally they made it to the head of the table. Erik pulled out a chair to his left, Charles sat, and the banquet began. 

To Charles’ left, was a broad, red-faced lord that Charles had never met before, although, according to his introduction, he must be one of the richest men in the land. To Erik’s right was a man Charles did remember – the one who had seen him and Erik in the woods, and who had arranged afterwards with Emma, for him to leave the Sanctuary.

“Prime Minister Shaw,” the lord next to Charles said, catching the man’s attention.

Shaw, Charles thought. He knew the name, of course: the Prime Minister who had helped to run the country in the first years of Erik’s reign, when he had still been a teenager. Next to the king himself, he was easily the most powerful man in the kingdom. Charles studied the man’s face with interest: his gray hair was cut long, and he had the dry smell of an older beta. He caught Charles looking and smiled, and bowed his head to him in a manner that seemed mocking, though outwardly polite. Charles felt a chill run down his spine. 

Something else about Shaw looked familiar to him though. It took him a while to place it. Surely he had seen the man before. Before that day in the woods, even? 

“How are you settling into the castle?” Shaw asked Charles.

“Just fine, thank you,” Charles replied smoothly. “Prime Minister, have I met you before?”

“I don’t believe so,” Shaw replied.

“Perhaps at the Sanctuary?” Charles asked. That was right; he was almost sure he had seen Shaw there, visiting the Prioress at odd hours.

“No,” said Shaw, “I hardly visit there.”

Charles frowned to himself, but nodded, and let the conversation drift onward to other topics. How odd, he thought, almost sure that the Prime Minister was lying.

The rest of the dinner passed in a parade of rich courses (Charles, used to the simple food the monks prepared, gave up after the third), and conversation, mostly directed to Erik. Charles stayed quiet, but kept his eyes and ears open. For the most part, though, the conversation seemed banal. 

He could feel Erik’s attention focused on him throughout. Although the king only occasionally glanced at him, Charles was sure that he was aware of every slight gesture Charles made. And similarly, although he tried to listen to the words floating around him, Charles was far more aware of Erik, down to the way he shifted in his chair, bored, when a noble’s speech began to drone on for too long a spell, and the way he swirled one cup of a wine in a glass for over an hour, hardly drinking. His whole body seemed somehow to know Erik was there, and to be focused towards him, and Erik was the same. Neither of them was acknowledging it out loud, but both of them knew…

 

 

The banquet finally ended, but the lords and ladies seemed to be settling in for an extended night of drinking and carousing. Charles felt exhausted, and wondered how long it would go on. He stifled a yawn, which, somehow, Erik still heard, because he looked down at him with a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“We’re leaving,” he said, abruptly, rising from the table. 

The other guests, though apparently a bit disappointed, graciously ceded: perhaps the king frequently arrived late and left early. Erik helped Charles up, and offered his arm. Cautiously, Charles accepted. As they made their way back through the castle hallways to his chambers, now darkened at lit by torches and candles, he was so tired that he let himself lean against Erik, and admitted to himself that it felt solid and strangely exciting, to do so. 

The room was quiet when they entered: dark but for a few candles and the glow of some partially banked embers in the grate. 

Erik deposited Charles into a chair, and then went to the wardrobe. He began stripping off his own clothing, which had rather more buttons and fewer laces than had Charles’, and Charles’ mouth went dry. It was impossible to look at that chest and not want to run his fingers over it, following the natural curves and valleys, letting them lead his hand downwards. Below that – Erik might have appeared not to have been watching, but Charles was sure that he was. It he looked further, Erik would know. He tore his gaze away.

Erik washed and dried himself with a little cold water, and then went over to the bed, where the servants had left a night shirt laid out for him. He pulled it on and then looked at Charles, still sitting primly and fully dressed.

“It’s a little silly to insist on modesty at this point, isn’t it?” Erik said, dryly. He gestured to the other night shirt (it looked to be made of flimsier, sillier stuff than the king’s own) and said, “Put it on.”

Charles wanted to refuse, but he thought, from the king’s expression, he would not permit it. Feeling shy, he reached back, his fingers seeking the knots that Raven had tied earlier in the evening. He undid them, and then loosened one row of laces after another, until his shirt was finally loose enough that he could slip it over his head.

He could do this, he told himself, trying to control his breathing. He could - Erik was watching him, openly, not even bothering to pretend otherwise. Charles ignored the gaze as best he could, but still, he could feel it, burning into his skin. It was on the edge between a painful and pleasurable feeling – knowing that he was the object of want sent a thrill down his back, but it was mixed uncomfortably with fear. He went to stand by the bed, and then, as quickly as he could, pulled the expensive shirt off, and, a moment later, tugged the nightshirt on in its place. Then, from beneath, he removed his trousers, retaining his underthings. 

His face was bright red as he managed this. When he looked up, afraid that Erik would be angry, the alpha appeared instead to be faintly amused. 

Erik slid into the bed, pulling the sheets back. “Come here,” he said. 

Reluctantly, Charles obeyed. He got into the bed, and lay down, carefully. Erik brought the blankets up over them, and extinguished the candles. 

For a moment, nothing happened, and Charles thought perhaps Erik would just go to sleep. But then he felt a touch on his shoulder. 

Erik ran his hand down Charles’ arm, and then let it settle on his hip – over the nightshirt, but it was a very thin layer of protection. It stayed there, as Erik’s thumb rubbed soft circles into his skin.

After no more than a minute, though, the hand drew back.

“You’re as stiff as a board,” Erik said, “And you smell afraid.” 

Charles wondered wildly if he was supposed to apologize. 

“I’m your mate,” Erik went on, sounding aggrieved, and then, “you’ll get used to it.” 

He rolled over as if in a huff, and went sleep.

You really are a child, Charles thought, watching his back, who has never been said ‘no’ to, in your life. His body still held that anxious feeling, on the one hand wanting to draw closer to its mate, on the other, wanting to crawl out of the bed, leave the room, escape the castle, and go – anywhere – back to his small cell in the Sanctuary, for a starting point, with its stacks of books and small pan of coals to keep warm at night.

He stayed like that for a long time afterwards, unable to sleep despite his exhaustion, jittery and on edge because of the large body that burned like a furnace as it slept beside him. 

 

 

The next morning Charles woke again to an empty bed, a cooling space where Erik had been. It was very late in the morning – much later than Charles, who was an early riser both by preference and training, usually slept. 

It was both a relief and a disappointment that Erik had left him. Dealing with the alpha was exhausting, but not dealing with him was, in its way, tiring too. 

Feeling clearer headed than he had the day before, he rose, washed briskly, and dressed, wrinkling his nose when he realized the tunic was leaf green, and with an empire waist. He picked at the book of military tactics he’d discovered while he ate his breakfast, which was just as it had been the day before.

He followed up his breakfast with another walk in the gardens. Moira was there again, this time fussing over a row of recently sprouted tomato plants.

“Maybe you can lend me a little plot of land here,” Charles asked. “I could get some of my experiments from the Sanctuary sent up.”

“If you like, Sire,” she said, politely, ducking her head.

“None of that,” Charles said, wondering to himself if he’s have to redo all his work of the day before, to get her to talk normally to him again. He threw himself down beside her and started weeding a bit, carefully, from the other side of the row, letting his fingers grow black with the rich soil, and enjoying the feeling of it covering his hands.

Moira still seemed disinclined to talk, so he began a long, rambling recitation of the banquet the day before. He moaned over the lavish but wasteful food, and tried to remember who and what he had seen. In the midst of recalling the words of a fat lord who’d made a faux pas, he paused, asking, “Who was that, anyway?” He knew that Moira was becoming comfortable again when she answered him, in a low, laughing voice.

“Lord Monteban, I should imagine.” She paused and added conspiratorially, “I’ve heard he has a reputation for drinking a little too much on occasion.”

In this way, Charles got her to open up even more, telling the stories she had heard of various members of the court. Most of whom she’d seen but rarely spoken to, and yet all the juicy moments of the past years were well known by all the servants. 

“And Prime Minister Shaw?” Charles asked, casually. 

Moira looked at him in surprise, but put her head down just as quickly.

“The King was only thirteen when his parents died,” she said. “The kingdom might have fallen apart, if not for the Prime Minister.”

“I was only a boy myself,” Charles mused. “But I feel that life has gotten harder than it was in the days of King Joseph.”

“That is not King Erik’s fault,” Moira said, softly.

“But is it Shaw’s?” 

Moira paused, and looked around them, as if confirming no one was near.

“The king is a great warrior,” she said. “He is away from the castle, fighting for the kingdom, many months a year.”

“So Shaw manages the affairs of the kingdom during that time.” Charles mused.

Moira looked as if she were weighing her next words. 

“Erik is a good king,” she said, finally. “But things are harder when he is not around.” She looked nervously at Charles. “You should be careful never to cross the Prime Minister.”

 

 

He returned to the King’s rooms thoughtfully, and, after some consideration, found some parchment and a quill, and set to writing. 

When he had finished, he went looking for the knights, whom he found, luckily enough, without too much difficulty. Several were sparring in pairs in the lower courtyard, while Alex looked on, accompanied by a squire who looked so much like him that it had to be his younger brother. Alex introduced him with a touch of pride and affection.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Charles admitted, “but I have a favor to ask. How can I get letters sent to the Sanctuary? I’d like to have his delivered to one of the brothers there.”

“Just chuck it in the basket,” Alex said. “The next traveler passing through can take everything going in that direction.”

“Well,” said Charles. “Yes, but, you see, I need it delivered directly into his hands.” The Prioress was known for checking correspondence, and this one needed to be absolutely private.

Alex looked doubtful. “I could take it for you,” he decided. “I’m due to be patrolling the town over a few days from now, if you can wait that long.”

“Thank you,” said Charles gratefully. “The monk’s name is Hank McCoy. Remember, please, it must be delivered to him directly, or better not at all…”

He wasn’t sure what to do with himself next. It was very strange to have so much free time, in the Sanctuary he’d always been pleasantly busy.

As he walked beneath along the cloister surrounding the inner courtyard, servants paused to bow to him, and courtiers and richly-dressed omegas paused to ask kindly how he was settling it. Up until few days ago, the servants would have been his friends, and the most members of the nobility would barely have deigned to converse with a simple monk. Now, by an accident of nature, Charles’ station was inverted.

He was enjoying the fine view of the countryside below the castle, and thinking about a project he had left behind at the Sanctuary- he’d wanted to try to make a tincture of black mint, and another of black mint and cat’s claw, and then apply a bit of an experiment to see which cured congestion better, when the King came striding along, a small crowd of courtiers in tow, each apparently vying for his attention.

He stopped when he saw Charles, so abruptly that an unfortunate soul nearly walked into the back of him. 

“Charles,” he said.

He wasn’t quite sure how to greet his mate, so Charles merely nodded. 

“Were you waiting for me here?” 

He hadn’t been, but the king’s voice sounded faintly hopefully, so it seemed unkind to say so. 

“You left early this morning,” he said, instead.

“I had to work with the men,” Erik answered, abruptly. 

It occurred to Charles that perhaps neither of them knew quite what to say to the other. The space between them began to grow too long, it would soon be unbearable awkward.

Just as it reached that point, Erik turned on his heels, staring down the courtiers who had been listening with interest. “Go away,” he said, sharply. 

They left.

“Come with me,” he said to Charles. 

It was an order, which pricked at Charles, but he bowed his head in agreement. Erik began to head at a good pace in the direction of their room, and Charles followed.

“How do you find the castle?” Erik asked, stiffly. 

Charles looked at him dubiously. “Fine.”

“I hope,” Erik said, “That is – is there anything that might make you more comfortable here?”

Charles considered. “A different tailor.”

Erik frowned. “You may always ask Raven…”

Charles nodded vigorously. Erik frowned, but seemed ready to drop the subject. 

“You slept very deeply,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Yes.”

“I am glad you felt comfortable enough to do so.” He twisted around to look at Charles.

Charles frowned.

“You seemed afraid of me last night, but you do not seem afraid now,” He was like a dog, Charles thought, pursuing the subject by running rings around it, crowding it in closer with each turn.

They passed into his private quarters: the table had been spread with breads, and butter and cold meat. Under other circumstances, Charles could have laughed at the expression with which the King looked at the food: a bit resentfully, as if he wondered what it was doing there. Instead of sitting, he turned around and looked at Charles.

“I’ve been with many omegas,” he said, bluntly. “And none have ever had cause to complain.” Charles stared at him, and bit back a bitter reply. Erik had slipped into a slightly pedantic tone – it was the same tone that Charles’ stepfather had slipped into, when he’d been on the point of reminding Charles about some point of omega etiquette or other. “Your life will be comfortable here, but I expect respect and obedience.” He paused, and looked at Charles significantly.

“Of course,” Charles said, dutifully, lowering his gaze. That seemed to placate the king, because his expression softened.

“Good,” he said. “I do want you to be happy.” He looked back at the table of food. “Come,” he said, gesturing towards it. “Let me feed you something.”

Cautiously, Charles joined him in sitting across from the table. Whatever the king’s complaint, he seemed to feel he had expressed himself clearly enough. Charles was uncertain. It was utterly unfair, really, for Erik looked the way he did – well-formed, distractingly handsome– in addition to being an alpha, and the king, and everything else besides. It was easy to see where his arrogance came from. 

But all alphas were like that, really: arrogant. If he had met one who wasn’t, perhaps Charles would have looked for a mate, instead of running to the monastery.

“Eat this.” 

Charles looked up, and blushed. The king was holding a bit of bread out towards him – like Charles was a dog. 

“Thank you,” he said, “but I’d rather-”

“Take it.” Erik’s voice was implacable.

Charles was forced to lean forward, stretching his neck, to catch the food between his teeth. The king made a pleased sound as he chewed and swallowed, and reached for a piece of cheese to give him. 

Charles could feel that his whole face had gone red. He accepted the cheese, but this time Erik’s hand did not draw back immediately. Instead, he let his fingers linger over Charles’ lips. 

When he finally drew away, the place where they had touched still tingled. Charles stared at Erik’s pleased, handsome, insufferably self-satisfied expression, and felt confusion, desire, and an unsettled anxiety, mixing uncomfortably in his stomach.

 

 

Erik fed Charles one bite after another, watching the way the omega’s eyes blackened with lust, and feeling it rise within himself. It was immeasurably satisfying to see Charles responding to him in that way. He even liked the spark of something – anger? – that he had seen pass across Charles’ face, for a moment, before he had accepted the morsel Erik offered. Charles was a challenge, and that, in its way, made his compliance more satisfying.

He ate with his hands folded neatly in his lap, reaching for each piece of bread or cheese. Erik thought of putting the food between his own teeth, and asking Charles to take it, or simply to ask Charles to shuck his clothing, and crawl into Erik’s lap…

Suddenly too impatient with the game to last even a moment longer he stood and, taking Charles’ arm, tugged him upwards. It would be pleasant to repeat the activities of the night before…

But Charles didn’t move. Erik tugged a bit harder.

“What are you doing?” Charles asked, sounding lust-drunk.

“Come to bed,” Erik said, putting on the voice that always seemed to work well with omegas, smoky but authoritarian. 

“No.” 

“What?” 

Charles looked confused, and again Erik was struck by the discrepancy between his mate’s scent and his expression. He looked calm, but had begun to smell afraid, or slightly panicky. 

“Erik,” he said. “That is – Sire. We hardly know each other. Perhaps now that we are both – ourselves again, so to speak, we could sit down and… converse? After all, we haven’t really had an opportunity, and we’re bound to be together for the foreseeable future, so..?” His face grew redder as he spoke. So that was what had prompted the change in his scent, Erik decided – he was not afraid of Erik, but merely still shy of sex, and stalling. It was adorable, he thought, watching his mate stammering. Adorable, and understandable, given that this was all very new to him – but he would feel better, and Erik would feel better, once that fear was firmly put behind them. 

“Later,” he said, giving Charles’ wrist a quick tug that had him tumbling forward into Erik’s arms, his sentence cut off mid-stream, with a squeak. It felt perfect to have his smaller body fitted within Erik’s arms, and Erik felt himself hardening just from that contact.

“What are you doing?” Charles asked. Erik took advantage of his greater weight and size to keep him off-balance, turning them around until they both landed on the bed, himself seated, Charles, a warm, pleasantly squirming bundle in his lap. His tunic had ridden up, and Erik let one hand sneak up under the hem. Charles gave a little start when he felt Erik’s hand unexpectedly come to rest on the bare skin of his back.

“I want you,” Erik said, and kissed Charles, who, unaccountably, had turned from squirming, to outright pushing and struggling against Erik. To calm him, he let his hand run down Charles’ back, stroking him, trying to soothe him as he would Magneto, or a cat, enjoying the feeling of Charles’ muscles flexing under the touch. He leaned in to catch Charles’ lips. He could smell his omega’s arousal, practically see Charles’ internal battle, half of himself pulling away from Erik and the stronger half surrendering – 

and then, confusingly, his arms were empty, and Charles was standing a foot away from him, panting, delightfully disheveled, biting at his red-kissed lips.

“No!” He said, loudly, and very firmly, and then, before Erik could overcome his surprise, turned and fled from the room. 

 

 

Charles banged the door closed, only to find the three young knights from before, milling in the hallway, now turned to look at him with considerable surprise.

He bit back a curse and brushed past them, before they had a chance to react, barely hearing their hasty whispered council behind him.

One of the three broke away to follow him. 

Charles still did not know where to go, so he took the only route he had learned by then, and headed out the kitchen door, towards the gardens where, by now, no one was working. Past the garden was an irrigation ditch, with a low dike around it, and a row of willow trees lining each side. 

He walked couldn’t easily go over the dike, and it stretched far in both directions, caging him in. A thousand meters away a small bridge went over it…

He turned, with an internal cry of frustration, and pain, and let himself fall, slumping against the upward slope of the grass-covered dike. There was nowhere to go.

The knight who had been following him stopped at a respectful distance, watching Charles. He had dark skin and kind, intelligent eyes: just then he was watching Charles like one might have watched a rabbit, or any other skittish animal.

“Don’t worry,” Charles said, throwing his head back so that he lay against the dike, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He felt the knight’s footsteps approaching. Rather than look at him, he looked up at the sky, which, through the willow branches, was full of puffy white clouds, almost cartoonishly serene. 

“I know,” the knight agreed, calmly. 

He didn’t say anything more, but Charles felt, anyway, some kind of support from him. This was just the way it was. This was what had happened. This was what he needed to work with. 

“The king isn’t a bad person,” the knight said, presently. “He will treat you well.”

Charles diverted his eyes from the clouds, to the knight’s face, and then lost interest and closed his eyes. He didn’t reply, but rubbed his hand over his arm, feeling the goose-pimples there. It was chilly to be out with the thin clothing he was wearing. He ought to go in. He had been in worse situations, and he had faced them, and this one was no different.

So he forced himself to stand up, and stretched, as though he had been resting. “You’re quite right,” he told the knight, smiling although the knot hadn’t left his throat. “We should return. I’m Charles, by the way.” He added.

“I know,” the knight said. “I’m Darwin.”

 

 

Erik’s first emotion after straightening his clothing and regularizing his breathing was disbelief. Where had Charles gone? What had Erik done? What was he supposed to do? Clearly he needed some education in handling overwrought, hysterical mates. Omegas needed a firm hand – but in lieu of understanding exactly how to apply that, Erik decided to leave him be for a while. 

Informed that Darwin was keeping an eye on Charles, he decided to go down to the Castle’s physician, Magda.

She was a woman of middle years, an omega who had been mated to one of Erik’s father’s knights many years before, a man Erik now could scarcely remember. She had also been a close friend of Erik’s mother, the queen, and he could still remember, from his earliest childhood, hours of playing underneath her table, with a set of skirts to either side of him, as she and his mother sat talking for hours.

Perhaps he had delayed visiting her for too long. When he entered the small room where she kept her small apothecary, the smile on her face was surprised, but entirely genuine.

“Your Highness,” she said, rising, and dropping into a careful curtsy. She offered him a chair, which Erik gratefully sank into.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon after your mating,” she said. “Congratulations! What sort of an omega is he?”

Erik frowned.

“I don’t know!” he said. It was difficult to avoid sulking, like a small boy, when he explained to her what had happened.

Magda tapped her finger to her chin thoughtfully. “Erik,” she said, “he may be pregnant.”

That made Erik look up at her with a start.

“What?” He said. “So soon? But we only,” he waved a hand, and coughed. “Er, twice.”

“He was in the peak of his heat when you found him. It’s a typical pattern for omegas: when they go from being quite demanding to standoffish. Later, he’ll need your attention,” for a polite euphemism, she coughed gently, “in most ways, more than ever.”

“But, pregnant?” Erik repeated. “You mean – there could be a child?”

“That is what happened when a mated pair couple, Erik, yes.” She considered him, and then, raising herself to her feet slowly, went to poke within her rows of glass jars, and stoppered vials. 

“Here,” she said, with satisfaction. “This tea is very good for early pregnancies. Serve it to him in the mornings, it will keep him healthy.” She passed it across the table to him. “Sire, I know it’s a difficult thing for a newly-mated alpha to hear, but we omega are driven by the rhythms of our bodies, to a greater extent than an alpha. If your mate is rejecting you, you had better not force the issue. It would be bad for him, and for the baby. Be patient. Touch him as much as you can, your bond is new, and he’ll be the one to pull you into bed soon enough.”

Erik took the herbs, kissed her cheeks, and left her, his head still spinning, and the thought – pregnant! – continuing to ring in his ears.

To clear his head, he went to the stables, called the grooms to saddle Magneto, and went for a ride. They went as far up as the small town beyond the castle, and then looped back up towards the wood and the river, where most of the farmers planted apple trees. He rode for several hours, Magneto always obliging him in wanting to go further, making a good pace over the flat road and then, when they reached the river, planting himself in it, drinking water for a long time. Erik kneeled by the bank and drank too. 

By the time he made his way back to the castle, it was early evening, the sky streaked with orange and pink clouds. Magneto had enjoyed himself so much that he had become pliant, and did not even try to bite the stable boy when Erik, jumping off, tossed him the reins.

He was about to go when he heard a sound that, for a startled moment, he mistook for a baby’s soft mewling.

“What’s that?” he asked, turning around.

“The barn cat’s litter,” the stable boy told him. He pushed back a bale of hay and Erik saw a litter of kittens, white and orange, fighting for space at their mother’s teats. There was one amidst the rest, he saw, with a gray body. It a bit smaller than the others, who seemed already to have given up the struggle, and was curled into a ball instead.

“They’re pretty large already,” he commented.

“Yes, she’s already started to chase them off, when they bother her too much,” the boy agreed. “There were ten, but one of the dogs got in yesterday and took off the other gray one. I think they’d a different father to the rest of them, that gray tom that lives down by kitchens. The white-and-orange fellow is another of the barn cats.”

Erik reached down, and took the gray kitten by the scruff. It yowled as he raised it, clearly expressing its discomfort, although by instinct it held kept itself still.

“He’s contradictory, isn’t he?” Erik observed. “Mind if I take him?”

“Not at all, Sire.”

 

 

Darwin kept Charles distracted for much of the rest of the afternoon: first taking him down to the kitchens, where he had ordered the kitchen staff to bring food, and then glared at them until they left Charles alone (they had been lurking in the corners whispering to each other as they stared at Charles), and then giving him a long, leisurely tour of the castle: showing him the larger courtyard, where visitors entered, and then the smaller ones: one where the knights trained at all hours of the day, and another reserved for the castle servants, full of drying laundry and cooking smells. Inside there was the throne room, the dining rooms, the wings of the castle reserved for noble guests, and the lower wings reserved for less important members of the households. It was not unlike the Sanctuary, although on a much grander scale: it was an entire small village, living and working in a warren of inter-connected buildings, that had cobbled together throughout a long history and were therefore linked in odd ways, with sudden steps up or down, full of passages that led unexpectedly to dead ends, or to rooftop widow’s walks, or to strange irregular corners. Charles had begun to feel much more himself, by the time that they turned a corner, and ended, unexpectedly to him, back in front of the door to the king’s rooms.

“Erik’s gone out riding,” Darwin said. “He always does that, when he needs to think. Don’t worry,” he added, sounded somewhat apologetic as he slipped away.

Luckily, perhaps, Charles did not have long to wait before the king returned. 

When the door opened, he sprung to his feet, suddenly alert. But Erik entered the room quietly, with something – a cat, Charles realized – tucked against his broad chest. 

“What’s that?” Charles asked.

Erik looked down at the kitten as if he was confused by it himself. “I don’t know,” he said. “I thought you might like it.” He held it out to Charles, who accepted the creature, still with considerable surprise. The kitten was smoky gray. It looked up at Charles with curious yellow eyes and yowled sharply. 

“A talker, is he?” said Charles, and patted the kitten’s head, enjoying the way it arched up into the touch. Erik watched them both, looking uncertain. “What’s he called?” 

“Whatever you like.” 

“Thank you,” Charles said, sincerely. “He’s adorable.”

“You’re welcome.” Erik paused and looked uncertain. “I want to apologize for my behavior this morning,” he said, stiffly. “That is, I realize this must be very new to you. I’ll be gentler until you become accustomed to -,” he looked aside, as if he was embarrassed, and then glanced towards the bed. “Things.”

Charles wasn’t sure what he had expected to hear from Erik, but it hadn’t been an apology. He had to force himself not to stare at the king in surprise. “Oh. Yes,” he said. “Thank you.” 

Erik grunted in response, and did not say anything more. A faint redness was creeping up the back of his neck. It was such an incongruous sight, given his large and physically intimidating figure, that Charles found himself thinking- it somehow made the king seem approachable, again. He shook his head, surprised at his own thoughts. What was wrong with him, to think that about the alpha who was taking advantage of him? It must be the bond, addling his wits. 

The kitten, responding to his strokes, twisted itself into a long, sinuously shape in Charles’ arms, his tail stretched into a curve than straightened and shuddered with every stroke. Charles went to the dry sink in the corner of the room, and poured a little water into the basin, and set the kitten down beside it. It had to stretch its neck to reach the water. When it did it licked at the water once or twice, doubtfully, and then looked up at both of them and yowled.

 

 

A few days passed, and the uneasy truce between Erik and his mate grew no better. To relieve the tension of having Charles close at hand and yet impossible to touch, Erik rose early, exercised heavily, and kept himself awake late into the night. By the time he crawled into bed Charles was usually asleep already, curled in on himself and occupying the smallest corner of the mattress possible. Erik found himself watching the omega late into the night, with conflicting feelings of desire and frustration. 

One unintended result of this newly-created need to keep busy at all times was his increased participation in politics, an activity which had always bored him. 

The beginning of the month, it appeared, was the time when petitioners came from various far corners of the kingdom to make their arguments about whatever conflicts had lately arisen. And so Erik found himself one morning surrounded by advisors and various members of the court, squabbling over the usual tariffs and border troubles. 

He was not paying much attention: he was thinking of Charles. The sound of a lord who had come protesting the recent levy of taxes on his district was just a murmur in the background.

He broke from his thoughts, however, when sometime the lord said surprised him.

“20% on wheat?” Erik asked, causing both Prime Minister Shaw and the lord to look at him in surprise. “Shaw, the last harvest was very poor. Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?”

Shaw looked put out, but he quickly covered it up. “It is necessary, Sire,” he protested. “The wheat will be used to feed your army, when it goes to fight the robber-king.”

Erik tapped his fingers on the desk, thoughtfully. “20% is the rate we ask throughout the kingdom?”

“No, Sire!” The lord protested, sharply. “Other have been asked to provide 15 percent, it is only my town which is being punished.”

“Be quiet!” Shaw snapped.

“Let him speak,” Erik replied.

Looking nervously at Shaw a moment, the lord went said. “My father protested the Crown’s request for men last year. Many have already died in your campaigns, Your Highness, and those who are left are young boys, or older men with families. We sent only half the requested number.” His eyes flickered to the right. “Some think this is retribution.”

“You should recognize,” Shaw said, acidly. “That the Crown will take what it requires. If not in one form, than in another.”

“Wait a minute,” Erik said. “You come from Alpensfarr, is that right?” When the lord nodded cautiously, Erik said, “I knew many of those men – they were good soldiers, and they fought twice as hard as the other men in the army, because they knew that if Janos was not defeated on his own territory, the battle would soon spill over into their own lands.”

“And now we have peace in the west as a result,” Shaw said, sharply. “The warlords on the border will not bother us for another generation. In fact, many are eager to join their territory to ours. This would never have happened, had your victory not been so resounding.”

“We are attempting to subdue our enemies, not our own citizens,” Erik pointed out. “I hardly see the point of punishing them for their lack of able-bodied men, by demanding they produce more grain. Even fifteen percent is very high – I was under the impression we requested ten percent of all harvests, no more.”

“We have been forced to ask more in recent years,” Shaw said. “The continuing demands of the army-”

“are no greater than they have ever been.” Erik felt himself growing angry. “You may manage the day to day affairs of the kingdom, Prime Minister, but I oversee the requisition orders of the military, and I can assure you they have not grown substantially in the past years.” He looked at the lord in front of him. “Tell your father than ten percent will be sufficient. And that goes for all other regions of the kingdom as well. 

“Your Highness-“

“By the King’s decree,” Erik said, cutting Shaw off sharply, ignoring his furious expression. “Now, what is the next issue for the court?” 

“The plans to confront the thief-king Azazel,” Shaw said, after a charged pause. 

Erik considered. “I don’t wish to send the army in force this season. We’ll send enough knights and men to keep the towns and farm land protected. To enter his territory and root his men out would take a much larger force and several months of effort. It will have to wait until another day.

Most of the men and women around them nodded as if they understood, but Shaw bolted upright, as if he’d been personally attacked.

“What?” he said. “Sire, I strongly recommend – no, I insist – the threat created by Azazel is far too great to be ignored even a month-“

“I disagree,” Erik said. “And unless you have access to information that I do not, I believe you will have to abide by my decision.” He had not expected Shaw’s fervor over this particular issue, and, attempting to placate him, he added, “Prime Minister, I thought you would be glad, since you always warn me how expensive our military campaigns are.”

Instead of having the intended effect, this seemed to make Shaw even angrier. Erik added, “I’ve only just taken a mate. You understand that it would be difficult for me to be separated from him immediately, for so long.”

Shaw seemed to hold himself back, and then, stiffly, still very angrily, replied, “Yes, of course, Erik – Your Majesty,” he corrected himself. “I bow to your superior wisdom.” 

He sounded very sarcastic, but Erik let the matter drop.

 

 

He went back to his rooms after the meeting. Charles was gone, again. The kitten had been left in its basket; one of the maids had helpfully provided a plate of cut fish for the creature. Still, it didn’t seem terribly happy to have been left on its own. Erik could sympathize.

He still had not found a way to talk to Charles about the child – the possibility of a child. He supposed the possibility must have occurred to the omega on his own. But with things so delicate between them, Erik hesitated to raise the topic. 

He prowled about, looking for hints of Charles’ dark, spicy honeyed scent, until it led him to the tower wall, where his mate often seemed to sit, in the afternoons, and where he could look out and see for a long distance in the direction of the Sanctuary. On this particular day, he was reading, although the wind was turning the pages and whipping his longish hair into a tangle. He looked up when Erik climbed the stairs, and Erik saw him tense, and then, as if Charles were willing it upon himself, relax.

“Hello,” he said. 

All the servants seemed liked Charles. So did Erik’s knights. He had caught his mate chatting with Alex and Darwin, laughing with the servants, and even gossiping, rather slyly, with one or two members of the court. But with Erik he was always reserved, and it filled him with a kind of frustration that was deeper than his sexual frustration. When he saw Charles, it was as if bands tightened about his chest, making it hard to draw breath or know what to say.

“What are you reading?” He asked, mostly just to say something, and then, interrupting himself, “What are you wearing?”

Charles looked down at his beige tunic and dark trousers. Both were made of good, although not very fine, fabric, and cut quite simply. “You did say I could call in the tailor,” he said. “It’s alright, isn’t it?”

Erik opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “Is that what you meant?” he asked.

“Well, yes,” Charles said, and squinted at him, against the sun. “What did you think I meant?”

Erik waved a hand vaguely. “More frills – gold thread – something of that sort.”

Charles unexpected laughter was warm in the sunlight. “No,” he admitted. “I thought you understood. I’m a monk, Erik. I wanted something more workmanlike.”

“Were a monk,” Erik said. He tried, and mostly succeeded, in keeping the frustration from his voice. 

“What?”

“I said, you were a monk. Not anymore.”

Charles frowned, and grew silent, and Erik cursed himself for speaking without thinking. Perhaps, he thought, if there was a child – and after it was born - he ought to let Charles go back to the Sanctuary, if he hated life in the castle and hated to be embraced by Erik so much. 

But as soon as he the thought occurred to him, he was already chasing it away, with a surge of swift jealously. Charles would learn, he decided again, to want Erik as Erik wanted him. He simply had to. 

“Alex says he delivered a message for you,” he said, trying not to let jealousy creep into his voice. “Who was it for?”

“A friend,” Charles said, already getting up and closing his book. “A fellow monk.” He glanced at Erik. “A former colleague,” he corrected himself. And was there just the hint of a twinkle in his eye, as if he was laughing at Erik when he said it? 

“Kiss me,” Erik begged without thinking, and then cursed himself – he had promised himself he would not impose on Charles any further.

Charles looked up, surprised. Cautiously, he approached Erik -and it was like waiting for a deer to approach, Erik held himself still, waiting, not wanting to scare him off.

When Charles was within a foot of him he stopped, and waited.

“Let me kiss you,” Erik pleaded.

Charles looked him in the eye, and then looked away. “Erik,” he said – slowly, carefully, as if he was about to enter into some delicate negotiation. 

He had a sudden thought that he had known men who spoke like this before. Never from the omegas that Erik coaxed into bed – no, the way Charles spoke was like that of an young enemy officer defeated in battle, a man who had been brought to kneel before Erik, who had bowed his head, but only in an attempt to save the lives of his men, who had been captured with him. In other words, it was a calculated surrender, rather than an eager one. 

He took a quick step back from Charles, without realizing what he was doing –disappointment and anger swelling in his chest. But this time, he was angry with himself, anger for not knowing, and now, not seeing how to correct, what he had done.

“I have business I need to attend to,” he said, abruptly, and turned and fled. 

Charles watched him go, confusion painted on his face, the clear sky and the kingdom spread out behind him. 

 

 

Charles hurried down to the courtyard where the knights were training, and felt lucky to find Alex almost at once. 

“Were you able to see Hank?” He asked.

He didn’t miss the way Alex jumped to attention. “Yes!” He said. “I put your letter directly into his hands, just as you asked.” He smiled winningly at Charles.

“Thank you. Er…. did he give you any reply?”

“He said he would send one within a few days,” Alex said. 

“Oh dear.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll ride down and collect it for you.”

“Really? Thank you, Alex.” Charles felt slightly confused. “There isn’t another patrol coming up, is there?”

“No,” Alex admitted, “But it’s only a few hours’ ride on a fast horse. It’s no trouble.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Charles said slowly.

“Sire,” Alex said, “The monk you had me give the letter too, Hank McCoy? Who is he? How old is he? Is he a monk or a novice? How long have you known him?”

“Oh,” Charles said. He could feel his eyes growing round. “Yes, Hank...”

Alex was like a puppy dog, bouncing in excitement. 

“He’s brilliant,” Charles said. “He comes from a family of glaziers, and when they realized his talent they sent him to the Sanctuary for an education. He’s very good with mathematics – he’s redesigned all the sun-dials and timekeepers in the Sanctuary, in the past year, so that they keep the hours more accurately than I would have thought possible.” 

The young alpha was hanging on his words. Charles sighed. “He’s a scholar, Alex. He’s well suited to life in the Sanctuary, and I’ve never seen him show any interest in life outside it.”

It made him nervous to see Alex greet this interpretation with a look of stubborn determination. Charles sent a quick thought of apology to Hank.

“You’re all working hard today,” Charles changed the subject, observing that the training ground was twice as full as it had been a few days before.

Alex nodded. “Many of the knights are getting ready to leave for the eastern part of the kingdom,” he said. “I’m to stay here, but Darwin is leaving and Sean as well. There’s a thief up in the hills plaguing the villagers there. The hills are tricky, he’s managed to set himself up a base somewhere in them, and now he’s calling himself the “thief-king”. They mean to fortify the area heavily; his next raid will land him a nasty surprise.

Alex’s news turned out to be very accurate: a few days later, a battalion of knights and foot soldiers left for the east, Darwin and Sean leading the ranks. They looked fine, the lines of blue uniforms and elegant horses winding down the road away from the castle in the early morning sun. Charles stood by Erik’s side, watching them go, and, later, in privacy, offered a quick prayer to the Goddess for their protection. 

The same day Alex rode out to the Sanctuary. Although he left very early, he arrived back again quite late in the afternoon, so Charles was left to wonder whether he had kept Hank busy the whole day, and whether the attention had been welcomed. 

He accepted the letter Alex eventually delivered gratefully, however, and went off at once to the library, which was the quietest place he’d so far seen, and where he judged that he was least likely to be disturbed. His little cat, still unnamed, trailed at his feet, but once he reached the library, abandoned Charles to play at the feet of Logan, the gruff librarian.

 

‘Dear Charles,’ Hank had written.

‘I am glad to hear that you are settling comfortably into life at the castle,’ (Charles had started off his letter to Hank with a number of reassuring lies about how much he liked the place.) 

‘Everything is very well here, although it’s been quieter since you left, and I’m not sure who we can find to take over the medicinal herb gardens, or who to put in charge of teaching the novices their botany.’

The ink changed color here, suggesting that Hank had gone away from the letter and then come back to it. His writing became a bit worse as well – Hank had poor eyesight, and often had difficulty working by candlelight.

‘The knight who brought your letter has promised to come back to collect this in a few days, and to carry it directly to you. I trust that he will do so, so let me answer the question you asked earlier, and add a little bit of news on that front as well. Yes, the man you describe is the one I know as well. He comes from time to time, in the evenings, usually with a certain servant, and he and the Prioress dine together. I used to think that they have known each other a long time.

Three nights after you left us, he arrived, on his usual horse and with his usual servant – you did not mention the servant, perhaps you never saw him. He’s a young man with dark hair. He rarely speaks to us, but the few words I have heard were heavily accented.

Anyway, the man visited and dined with the Prioress, as usual, and then, it was noted by some of the gossipy members of the order that he only returned to the rooms that had been provided to him very late at night. And smelling, you understand, as an alpha who had not been lying alone.

Understandably, the older and more conservative members of the order are upset. They have gone so far as to draft a letter of complaint to the Bishop, voicing this complain (among others) and asking that the Prioress be removed.

Personally, Charles, I doubt the wisdom of their action. No one in the Sanctuary is as well-connected or wealthy as the Prioress. The Bishop may simply ignore the letter – or he may turn and give the names of those who wrote it to the Prioress. Or he may never receive it at all.

And to be honest, until you wrote, I did not even think that what the Prioress had done was such a crime… after all, neither you or I joined the order because we were particularly religious. If the Prioress had a lover, I thought, it would be harmless enough – after all, her life has been spent, like many of us, in the company of alphas who often treated her badly. She had done many things of which I disapprove, but finding some comfort in the arms of one who is not her mate was not one of them.’

The Hank’s writing changed again, and he added a few lines about the weather, his recent research, and the latest crop of novices he’d been charged with teaching to read and write. 

‘I know you say you are well, Charles’ he concluded. ‘but I would like to see you with my own eyes, and confirm it. Until then, I’m sending you the latest seeds from your quinic plants, so that you can continue your experiments in your new home, if you like.

Sincerely, Hank McCoy.’

 

 

Charles read the letter several times, and then, reluctantly, lit a candle, and burnt it, until the only thing left was the singled corner that he’d kept between his fingers. 

There were many things to think about…

Abruptly, his kitten yowled. Charles turned just in time to see if jump up on the desk. It pushed its face towards his, until Charles gave in and patted it.

The librarian, Logan, was still at his table, watching him. 

“A letter from a friend at the Sanctuary,” Charles explained.

“Uh huh,” the man frowned. “I’m not sure the king would like that, you receiving secret correspondences.”

Charles smiled at him. “It’s not a secret,” he said. “Erik knows perfectly well.”

But he wondered to himself, as he played with the ashes of the letter, dragging his finger through them, if that was really true. How much did Erik know about his former Regent? Was Charles being unnecessarily suspicious, perhaps, in wondering about the nature of the connection between him and Frost?

The kitten interrupted his thoughts by pushing himself firmly against Charles’ hands, demanding attention. Charles smiled and patted his head. “What am I going to call you, anyway?” Charles asked the animal. “No-name? Anonymous? How about Mr. X?” 

 

 

But then his concerns about Shaw receded into the background, because he began to notice that his nipples were puffy, and sensitive, and that he was sleeping longer and later than he had in the past – and that, of late, certain smells of food had begun to trouble him, and other smells – like the scent of his mate – were unreasonably addictive.

It wasn’t until one morning Charles woke uncharacteristically early – Erik was still asleep beside him, taking up the larger half of the bed – that he was forced to face the facts. The gray dawn was just visible from the window and the temperature, which had begun to mount at midday, still deliciously cool. Charles wasn’t sure what had woken him, but he stretched luxuriously, and then rose, padding to the bathroom.

He was only halfway there when a wave of nausea overtook him. He kept his mouth firmly closed, rushed in, took an empty chamber pot, and emptied the contents of his stomach into it.

That had been happening more and more recently, he thought, looking at the sad remains of the previous night’s supper with resignation. It was early still, but the signs were there. 

A child, then. What would that be like, watching his belly grow round, until his body was no longer his own, and finally birthing some infant, a tiny dictatorial creature, like it’s father, who would constantly demand his attention and exert its influence on his every mood.

A child, he thought, more philosophically, a small creature he would love, and see through all the stages of its life, from sturdy, stubborn toddlerhood to childhood, a boy or girl who like Charles would probably build leaf boats to float in the irrigation ditches, and read for hours, curled up in a tree or in some abandoned room, with good light, where nobody would disturb him or her.

A young man, or a young woman, an alpha or a beta or an omega, growing to their adult height, wearing adult clothing, and one day look on at Charles – and Erik, he was sure – as stodgy representatives of a conservative generation. 

He smiled to himself at the image, and covered the chamber pot, and washed his hands and his teeth. By the time he crawled back into bed he could feel sleep overtaking him again.

Erik cracked an eye open, and then rose on an elbow, yawning. Charles felt Erik watching him a while. Then the bed shifted as he got up.

He missed Erik’s furnace-like body heat, as he curled deeper into the blankets and fell back to sleep.

 

 

Erik waited, reading letters and reviewing bits of tax code and a number of edicts Shaw had apparently sent out, during his absence the year prior, until Charles woke.

It was amusing to watch. Charles stretched like a cat, shivering gently as he flexed his toes, rolled his shoulders, and then sort of slid into a seated position, the sheets pooling in his waist. Then he was awake enough to look around him. He blinked when he saw Erik, sitting at the breakfast table.

“You’re here late,” he mumbled.

“I heard you early this morning,” Erik responded, inwardly cursing his inability to speak plainly to Charles. “You might go and speak with Magda.”

“Magda?” 

“The castle’s physician.”

“Ah,” Charles said, and got up, and plopped down next to Erik, and poured himself a cup of tea. “So you think so too.”

He didn’t sound particularly happy or sad, merely reflective. Erik wasn’t sure what he had imagined he would feel, the first time his mate was pregnant, but it wasn’t this: this wistful sadness, the need to pull Charles into his arms and the fear that to do so would stifle him. 

“Do you…” he stopped, and tried again. “Are you happy?”

Charles seemed to consider. “It was bound to happen, wasn’t it?”

Erik felt his heart constrict. Daringly, he reached across the table – he would have taken Charles’ hand, if it hadn’t been tucked neatly in his lap. Instead, his hand rested, palm down, between them.

“Are you?” Charles asked.

Erik looked at him, amazed that he could ask such a thing. Of course he was glad. A child, he thought…

Of course, he had been shocked when Magda first brought the idea to his attention. He had thought, it would be better if it hadn’t happened then, as a result of their mating, but rather with Charles' second or third heat – after they had had time to get to know each other, to come together. Still, his heart felt a wild joy at the thought of a child, and it was at least in part because he knew this would bind Charles to him permanently – Erik would not have to suffer any more guilty thoughts about letting him return to the Sanctuary, to live their lives apart, when what he wanted was Charles near him.

“Let me kiss you,” he said: it had become a refrain between them of late. Erik tried to prevent himself from asking, and could not. Charles sometimes, but not always, let him. This time, Charles nodded, so Erik got up from his chair and came around, to stand over him. He bent until his forehead was almost touching Charles, and then he brushed Charles’ forehead with him lips.

“Thank you,” he said.

Charles hummed in response, looking over the breakfast table and out the window more than at Erik.


	3. Chapter 3

It was generally said that omegas tended to become clingy when they were pregnant. This was undoubtedly the case for Charles. In the days and weeks after his pregnancy was confirmed, he found himself wandering, at odd times of day, not realizing where he was going, until he came to some room where Erik was working with his advisors, or planning strategy with his generals and his advanced scouts, back from the field.

When this happened he usually tried to leave, backing away as casually as he had wandered in, but in general it was impossible: Erik always caught his scent, or if not Erik, someone else. In the considerate and somewhat condescending manner that most people adopted towards omegas, he was then politely guided to sit somewhere near Erik, in a chair at his side or just behind him, until whatever ‘boring business’ he was presumed not to be interested in, adjoined. Charles had to admit that Erik’s scent did wonders – making him so tranquil and drowsy that sometimes he fell asleep, in spite of himself, listening to the words of some minister or other droning in the background.

On other occasions, when he was a bit more rested, he listened, quietly, to the talk of politics and war. Erik, he was now sure, was a master strategist – when it came to placing armies on the field. Within the court, Charles was less certain. Erik tired of politics quickly, and tended to let the courtiers bicker amongst themselves – although it was clear as well that this was still at least double or triple the attention he’d shown to any domestic affair, since he came of age.

Erik organized the wars, and Shaw organized the day-to-day of the kingdom… and the more Charles pondered that thought, even in his hormone-doped state, the more concerned he became.

One day, after one of these meetings, he happened to see Shaw in a corner of the servant’s hall (Charles had gone down to borrow a spade from Moira) talking to a young man with a sharp face, dressed in dark leathers. He remembered Hank’s letter and found himself slipping into an alcove near to them, to avoid being seen.

He could not hear all of what Shaw said, but the name “Azazel” and the name of the valley where the better part of Erik’s army was camped, came through to him. Charles strained, but could not hear more, and then, because he saw Moira coming, was forced into a quick retreat up the stairs, before she gave away his position. 

 

Alex was still in contact with Hank – in fact, more days than not, he came begging for letters from Charles, so that he would have an excuse to ride to the Sanctuary. So, the day after Charles had caught a glimpse of Shaw’s dark servant, he asked Alex to send a brief message to Hank. The reply arrived back late the same day.

 

Dear Charles,

A rumor of your pregnancy has reached us here. I understand that the king hasn’t yet made an official announcement. Nevertheless, everyone is very pleased and excited, and many have asked me to relay to you their congratulations… 

The man of whom you speak passed by here late last night, leading a group of ten or a dozen riders. They did not stop here at the Sanctuary, of course, but camped in a field - they burned a good patch of earth and the peasants are very put out about it. They departed early this morning, heading, I am told, east. 

-Hank

 

It was a very short letter, and undoubtedly a cautious one. Charles read it twice and then, sighing, burnt it. He had wished many times, since arriving to the castle, that he could have seen and talked to Hank privately – letters were delicate things, and even with Alex acting as courier, one couldn’t be sure that they wouldn’t be intercepted…

He had no evidence of any wrongdoing on Shaw’s part, no proof. All he knew was that the Prime Minister kept up a relationship with the Prioress, which both of them, understandable, might wish to keep private – and that he had a servant that he had sent somewhere, last night, in a great hurry. 

Charles didn’t know Shaw well, but he knew the type. The cold eyes with which Shaw looked at him were the same eyes his stepfather and stepbrother had once turned on him – eyes that always asked how they could use Charles. If they could not use him, they would ignore him, unless he stood in the way of one of their goals. In that case, their minds would turn to the question of how they might most easily dispose of him... 

He had no evidence of wrongdoing on Shaw’s part, he reminded himself again. The man had been Erik’s regent for a decade, and had guarded the kingdom for Erik during that time. That suggested loyalty. And yet- it was not uncommon for a young king, unmated, to die in some war or other. Had Erik died in that way, rule would naturally have fallen to Shaw, who, after all, had done much of the practical work of ruling for years anyway. 

But Erik was not unmated anymore. Soon enough – it was strange to think it – but the child growing in Charles’ belly, would become the heir. Then, of course, Shaw’s chances of ever ruling would become very low indeed. 

 

 

He meant to broach the subject with Erik. He was not sure how close his mate was to Shaw, who had reigned throughout the better part of Erik’s childhood, and might therefore be a kind of father-figure to him. Charles did not, however, take that impression from the interactions that he had observed between them. It was fairly obvious that Erik’s increasing intrusions into political life irritated Shaw, and yet he seemed outwardly to accept them. 

That next day, Erik had mentioned that he didn’t wish to eat with the court that evening: a simple dinner in their rooms would be ordered instead. That, Charles decided, would be the best time to delicately broach the subject of Shaw, and his loyalty. 

It would have been better if things had not remained so tense between them. In recent weeks- since the day when Erik had frightened Charles – he had become very careful with Charles, always watching and waiting, apparently attempting to let Charles set the pace of their interaction. 

But this was something Charles had absolutely no idea how to do. He had always found it simple to talk to others and to draw them out, but around Erik, he became a tongue-tied, confused bundle of nerves. Perhaps more importantly, he did not know where he wished them to go – even if Erik did let him lead. 

There were moments when his skin felt hot – when he looked at Erik and felt himself reacting. It drove Erik mad. He would try to come close to Charles, and then Charles’ libido would hiccup, transmuting into unease, and Erik would flee the room – afterwards, Charles often found himself masturbating frantically, while he suspected Erik of doing the same. 

They were mated. They were going to have a child. And yet they could not talk about simple things, about plans for the day or the weather or whether or not they liked the taste of a cup of soup –without it becoming a delicate, uncomfortable thing. Erik was frozen by guilt, and so Charles had to be the one to sort things out somehow, between them. But he still did not know how. 

At least they could sit together now, silently. When others were in the room, it was better, but alone they could manage too. There was something soothing about just that, the two of them, eating together, or reading, or sleeping on opposite sides of Erik’s large bed. In the night, when Erik was asleep, it was easier to draw near to him, too. Sometimes Charles did, letting himself soak in the warmth that radiated from his mate.

 

His plans to talk seriously to Erik were unexpectedly diverted in the afternoon. He was just wandering back from the library, when a clatter of horses, voices, and alarmed calls from the courtyard drew him in that direction.

A group of knights had arrived, their horses near-dead with exhaustion, flanks dripping with sweat. The men were worse, dirty, wounded, some still streaked with blood.

Charles watched in horror as Darwin dismounted. His arm was bound against his chest in a way that suggested it was seriously broken.

“What happened?” Erik barked, striding towards them, the crowd parting around him as he came to stand in front of Darwin.

“An attack in broad daylight, Sire,” Darwin said. “Azazel has twice the men we estimated, and they are well-armed and better-trained, besides. They marched of the village as an army would’ve. They aren’t the bunch of thieves lurking in the mountains that we imagined, but a far more serious force than that.”

Erik’s mouth snapped shut in a grim line. “How many?” He asked. 

Darwin shook his head. “We were outnumbered. We held the village long enough to move the omegas and children away, and then I ordered the line to retreat. Then-” he nodded towards his broken arm as if it were a small thing. “Sean was left in charge of the force that remains.”

“Where.”

“Fleden’s Crossing.” 

Erik nodded. “That’s a good point: strong and defensible.” He raised his voice. “The army is moving out!” He called. “All men should report to their officers by seven this evening, we’ll be marching out tomorrow.”

“Yes, Sir!” The military men saluted. The wounded, those fit to stand, stood a little taller. 

“What’s happened?” Asked Moira, who had come to stand at Charles’ shoulder.

“I don’t know,” he answered, shaking his head. He was filled with dread. During Erik’s speech, he’d caught a glimpse of Shaw standing on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. He seemed to be struggling to control his expression: almost as though he was fighting not to smile. 

 

 

Erik issued a steady stream of orders: the larger part of army had to be gathered, each town sending it’s required number of soldiers, most of them veterans who had served with Erik already on many campaigns – the new men would be taken aside, to receive weeks of training, before being sent to join the greater mass of men at the front. 

He hoped the war would not drag on so long that they were needed. All his intelligence had suggested Azazel was a simple thief, who had gathered a small band of marauders about him. But now it was clear that he had an army, or something like it. Erik’s mind played scenario after scenario, trying to think from where he could have gotten the seasoned, well-trained soldiers that Darwin had described.

They needed to move east at once. Move east, and carve Azazel out of his mountains as a rodent could be carved out of its hole. More importantly, track the source of his army… 

It would mean leaving Charles behind. That was Erik’s one regret: he had never loved the castle, always preferred the rush of battle, followed by the clean air, hearty stews, and deep cups of ale that followed in the days and weeks between skirmishes. It was a hard life, but it had always seemed infinitely preferable to the cold stone walls of a place he associated with the death of his parents, and the false sympathy and false smiles of the courtiers there, soft lords and ladies who preferred a life of luxurious verisimilitude to the undeniably real bonds of loyalty which sprung up between Erik and his soldiers. 

He had seen life that way, but now, with Charles, he had begun to suspect it was not always so. War was hard and led to suffering and death, and there was doubtless nothing noble in pursuing it unnecessarily. He did not, for instance, want to imagine his child always at war, as Erik had been. Of course, if it turned out to be an alpha, or even a beta, it would need to spend some time on the battlefield – it would not do to have a child who ruled armies without understanding the risks that he or she subjected them too. 

“I hope you’ll be comfortable while I’m gone,” he said to Charles, awkwardly – as nearly every conversation between them was awkward. “We will return before winter, in any case.” Before the babe arrives, he thought to himself.

“Yes,” said Charles, hesitantly. He seemed to be hesitating, as if he, too, was unsure what to say to Erik. 

He didn’t like to leave, with things as they were between them.

“I’ll write,” he offered.

Charles looked surprised. “I’d like that,” he said. “Erik…this thief is no match for you, of course-”

“He is not,” said Erik. It was something he was very sure of.

“No,” said Charles, sounding slightly reassured. “Still, you will be careful.”

He felt a glow. “You’re worried about me,” he stated.

“Well, yes.”

Erik looked at him intently. “I didn’t know that you would be.”

“Of course I’m worried,” Charles said, now sounding exasperated. “I don’t – hate you, you know, Erik.”

“Oh,” said Erik. “I thought you did.”

“No.” Now Charles’ cheeks were pink, as though admitting to not hating someone was equal to a confession of love. He straightened his shoulders. “I don’t know what I feel for you, actually – but I want you to be very careful.” He paused. “You can trust your own men fully, of course?”

“Of course,” said Erik, forcefully, insulted by the insinuation. 

“Of course,” Charles echoed, and then nodded, accepting Erik’s judgment.

“You leave in the morning, then?”

Erik nodded.

Charles sighed, and rubbed his belly absently. He wandered over to the window of their bedroom, looked out into the darkened courtyard below, and then stepped away again. His eye fell on the chessboard tucked onto away in a corner.

“Should we try a game?”

“You place chess?” Erik said, surprised. It had never occurred to him that it might be a sport than an omega, or a pacifist monk, might be interested in.

“A bit,” Charles replied. He took the board down, placed in on the table in front of him, and began to set out the pieces. Once they were arranged, he looked over the chess board at Erik with a small smile, which Erik returned. He would play carefully, he decided – test Charles’ abilities and then play gently, so as not to trounce his mate too seriously.

This magnanimous idea did not last for very long. Charles beat him once, quickly and efficiently, before Erik realized that a trap had been laid: and then beat him again, in a longer, more protracted battle, during which Erik, whose wits had been scattered by the first sudden defeat, tried to recollect himself, and rally his troops, but mostly failed.

“Where did you learn to play?” He asked, pushing back from the table and staring at the board in disbelief – his queen and both bishops were taken, and his king forced to shuffle about the board like a rabbit the wolves were close in on. 

“Here and there,” said Charles mildly. He pushed a rook forward and looked up at Erik. “Checkmate.”

Erik stared at the board, and then at Charles. He was waiting, and watching Erik, his expression – blank, almost, as if was waiting to see what reaction he would get.

“Some alphas don’t like to be beaten by an omega.”

Erik frowned at him, and then at the board again, and then back at his mate. “Some alphas are fools,” he said, and then, after a moment of consideration, “I wish we’d discovered this shared passion for chess earlier, for I feel I know you a little better now, than I have all for all these weeks.”

Charles’ mouth quirked wistfully. “Likewise.”

 

Erik left with his troops in the morning: Charles went to see them off. At the last moment Alex ran up to him, pressing a sheath of paper into Charles’ hands. 

“Send this to Hank,” he asked. “I’m not much of a writer, but, he seems to write to you, so-”

“Of course,” Charles promised. Alex looked so young, for a moment that he was taken with the urge to bend in, and put his hand on his shoulder. “Good luck,” he said.

Alex puffed with pride. “We won’t need it,” he said, and headed off again, into the swarm of assembling men.

Erik came to him last. “Good luck,” Charles told him.

“Let me kiss you,” Erik said, and, when Charles nodded, leant in and did so. It was brief, and chaste, and it left Charles dissatisfied as he watched Erik turn and head away. He nearly called for him to stop – but he didn’t.

The main gates were raised, the army began their match away, and an hour later they were just a cloud of dust on the Eastern road, in the distance. 

 

Then for several days it was quiet. Charles spent several mornings in the infirmary with Darwin, reading to him, listening and murmuring sympathy as Magda slowly weaned him off of pain medication. When Darwin began attempting to sweet-talk the old omega into letting him up from the bed, they both knew he was on his way to healing, so, he was allowed out, and they took walks together, following the dike along one side of the perimeter of the castle grounds, and then turning to follow a row of trees. Darwin was bored, and anxious for his arm to recover so that he could join his fellow men in arms. Charles was, guiltily, still grateful for his company. He tried to spend time with Moira and Raven, too, but their work load appeared to have increased as late summer, drawing into fall, meant an increase in the harvesting of produce from the garden for Moira – and fewer servants in the castle now that the bulk of the courtiers had decamped to their various estates, meant more domestic chores for Raven.

Then one morning, he was woken to the sound of chattering in the hallway outside his room: when he opened the door, he saw a gaggle of maids, excitedly whispering about the party which had arrived.

“It’s the Prioress Frost,” one sheepishly explained to Charles, after apologizing for having woken him. “She’s just come and she wants the best of everything, and has rejecting several rooms and yelled at three maids already!”

“Frost?” Charles said. His hand fell to his swollen stomach, protectively. “That is unexpected,” he replied, unconcernedly. 

“Yes. She’s come with several monks, as well – one of them has been asking after you-”

 

“Hank!” Charles cried, wrapping his arms around the young man.

“Charles!” Hank’s hug was so fierce, it nearly took him off his feet. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” Charles said. His face was flushed with pleasure. The Prioress Frost, and other members of the party – all members of her inner circle at the Sanctuary – looked at them with cool disbelief.

“I mean,” Charles said, letting Hank go. “Prioress. It is very good to see you here.”

“Yes,” she smiled thinly. “We heard that the army had gone away, and thought you might like a visit from your old friends.”

“Thank you,” said Charles, looking at Hank again, and nodding politely too her. “It is very good to see you here.”

He led Hank to his private rooms, to speak with him properly. 

“When the Prioress announced her intention to journey to the castle,” Hank told him as they walked, “I begged her to include me in the party. Luckily, she knows we’re close, and so I think she brought me in the hopes of pleasing you…”

Charles shook his head. “I don’t care what her reasons were,” he said, “but I am so glad to see you.” He reached out and grasped Hank’s arm, reassured to feel him really there. Then he ushered Hank into the rooms and closed the doors properly. “I don’t know what’s happening,” he said. “But I feel nervous. The Prime Minister…”

Hank nodded. “Charles, I have something important to tell you. Do you remember my last letter, when I told you that I’d seen Shaw’s servant riding east.”

“Not two days later, Darwin’s encampment was attacked,” Charles nodded. “Since then, I’ve feared…” he paused, even with Hank in front of him, not wishing to give voice to his fears. “The attack forced Erik to leave with his army. He seemed sure that, with his superior numbers, the thieves would be no match for him.”

“Unless the thieves have been giving some help we don’t know about.” Hank said softly. Charles looked at him. Hank always thought the best of everyone, so hearing him give voice to Charles’ own fears was startling. What did it mean, he wondered, running his hand over his belly thoughtfully. 

“You’re worried for Alex,” Charles suddenly realized. 

A light blush came over Hank’s features. “No,” he protested, and then, seeing Charles’ expression, realized that protest was useless. “Well, yes.” he admitted. “I’m worried for all of them – but especially for Alex.”

“You are,” Charles said, marveling. He felt his heart growing light at the thought. “And here, all this time I’ve been worrying that I was making life difficult for you, by sending him over and over to act as messenger between us, when he was so clearly dewy-eyed for you and I thought perhaps you wouldn’t return his feelings.”

“No,” Hank confessed, looking at his hands, his face bright red now. “I don’t – I don’t know about that, really. But I didn’t mind his visits.”

“Well,” said Charles, “I’m glad.” But then he frowned again, thinking of the problem before them. “What can we do?” he asked. “We don’t have any evidence – just a few strange coincidences. As little as I like to think of the Prime Minister and the Prioress lying together, it’s a scandal, not treason.”

Hank nodded slowly. They sat like that for a good while, similarly lost in thought. 

 

The next morning when Raven came in to turn down the bed and serve Charles his breakfast, there was a new scandal in the palace. “The Prioress took the room next to the Prime Minister’s,” she told him, blue eyes wide with a mixture of fear and pleasure in the intrigue. “A door connects them.” 

Charles shook his head. “Surely it’s foolish for them to act so openly. Even his high station, and hers, won’t protect them from censure...”

Raven shook her head. “The Prime Minister isn’t afraid of anyone,” she said. 

But Charles worried, as drank his tea and watched Raven bustle about the room. Neither Shaw nor Frost were stupid, but what they were seemed hasty nonetheless. Now, with Erik away, few in the court would be brave enough to complain, but as soon as he returned Charles was sure there would be an outcry…

He stopped short, his toast dangling forgotten for a moment in one hand. As soon as Erik returned, he repeated to himself. But what if Shaw did not expect Erik to return at all?

There was a quick knock at the door, Raven hurried to open it. A young page stuck his head inside. “The Prioress has asked to speak with you,” he said to Charles, fidgeting. 

Raven frowned. “The Prioress can’t summon the Royal Consort like a servant,” she scolded the boy.

He frowned. “She told me to,” he whined, “and to wait until he came.”

Charles and Raven shared a quick glance. “Well, perhaps I’d better,” Charles said peaceably. He pulled himself up from his chair – his rounding stomach only threw him a bit off balance – and opened the armoire, looking for something to wear. “Wait in the hall,” he told the page. “I’ll just be a moment.”

Raven was red-faced in anger when he closed the door. “She hasn’t the right!” She said.

“No,” Charles agreed. “But still, I’d like to know what she’s up to, wouldn’t you?”

 

The Prioress was seated at her own breakfast, in front of a good table of breads and meats of more variety than Charles’ own had been. Of course, he preferred simple meals generally.

She was not wearing the habit of her order, but rather a long, white morning gown, simple enough to be not entirely inappropriate for a member of the order, but still very striking, especially given her pale skin and blond hair. The Prime Minister was seated beside her, in a more formal gray tunic and trousers.

“Charles, my dear,” the Prioress said, when Charles entered. She gestured for a servant to pull out a chair. “Do join us.”

Charles sat politely, and accepted the cup of tea a servant poured for him. He was aware of all the servants in the room watching the scene covertly. 

“Since your mate is unfortunately away, we thought you might like some company,” Frost said. “I was the Mother Superior of your order, that makes us a bit like family, doesn’t it?”

She didn’t put much false enthusiasm into the words. Instead, she read them, rather like lines of a play, and then paused to see how Charles would react. 

“Of course,” he said, politely.

“Erik has gone, likely for many months,” Shaw said. “And this is your first pregnancy. The Prioress and I wish to make sure you are comfortable, and that you have every need attended too.”

As if it’s your castle, Charles thought, that I’m a guest visiting, rather than the other way around. But he smiled blandly instead. 

“And of course,” said Shaw. “If you have any concerns, you should come to me. You needn’t worry about anything, except staying healthy and putting your energy into the child. ”

“Thank you,” said Charles. “But I’m sure Erik will return soon.” He paused, and tried a cautious gambit. “As it happens, Erik left me instructions about certain things he wanted dealt with in a particular way.”

Shaw paused. “Pass them to me,” he said smoothly. “I will see to them.”

Charles shook his head. “I’d rather do so myself, if you don’t mind.”

“Charles,” Frost said, chidingly. “Surely the Prime Minister can handle everything better.” 

Charles looked between them. It was very strange, he thought: very strange, and very worrisome. Abruptly, he stood. 

“Thank you for the tea,” he said. “I have something I must attend to.”

“Charles,” the Prioress said, firmly. “Sit.”

She stated it as a direct order: thrown down the gauntlet, as it were. Charles hesitated. He didn’t know what game they were playing, and he had the child to think of now: perhaps it was best to lay low and wait until he had more information. On the other hand, he could still feel the servants watching, and he knew what they were thinking. Who would be in charge here, who would they turn to if a real struggle for power broke out? 

He ignored her and left. Best everyone knew now that Shaw would not control him without a fight.

 

 

He found Hank, and together they looked for Darwin. The three of them took a long walk together along the dike. Charles and Darwin noticed the servant – one of Shaw’s men – trailing behind them, and looked at each other significantly but did not say anything about it aloud. 

“I know the eastern country a bit,” Hank was telling Darwin. “I lived there as a boy, before I joined the order.”

“So you must understand how the bandits have managed to hide themselves so well for so long,” Darwin answered. “We believe Azazel’s men are encamped on Mount Dresnel.”

Hank nodded. “There are many caves there, and the villagers avoid them, as they’re said to be full of spirits. It would be a good place for bandits to hide. Will the army have reached Mount Dresnel already?” 

“They marched out less than a fortnight ago,” said Charles. “They won’t have arrived so far yet, as the supply train is being laid down as they go. They’ll still be on the eastern road.”

“They’ll be passing through Winowell. That’s the last major village before the country becomes hilly. Then they’ll follow the river up towards the mountain pass. Starting at Riversreach – that’s the village where we were stationed, before Azazel razed it,” Darwin briefly touched his bound arm, as though it pained him to remember the battle he’d lost there, “and then go to on to Dresneltown, if the village is still there, and use it as a base of operations.”

“What if there were spies in Erik’s army?” Charles asked. 

Darwin shook his head. “There aren’t. The men are loyal to the king.”

“But if there were,” Charles pressed. “You say the countryside is treacherous. Where would you try to trap an army? If you were a smaller force, how would you take down a bigger one?”

Darwin frowned again. “The king’s army includes men from the region. They’ll be cautious, advancing by paces, and scouting the terrain as they go.”

But Hank, who had until then been content to listen to the conversation between Charles and Darwin, broke in. “Even if they scout the terrain ahead of them, they need to be wary of what’s behind. The caves are full of tunnels that an enemy might use to come up behind them. In fact,” he paused. “It may be silly, but there’s just such a place I remember, between Riversreach and Dresdel. Darwin, did you ever go that way? There’s only one good place to set up a camp after Riversreach – the small stream at the base of the ravine – and from there it’s a day’s climb, nearly straight up, to reach the pass. Its hard work: by the time you reach it, you’d be dead tired.”

Darwin nodded slowly. “We didn’t make it so far,” he said. “But yes, I remember hearing about it. The pass is high and narrow, but it gives you a good entrance into the valley. 

“Yes. Well, there’s a cave there, at the entrance to the pass. It seems small, but when you go deep inside it links to a tunnel that joins to a larger network of caves on the other side of the mountains. I’m almost sure that small force could slip through there, bottling in an army that had already entered the pass.”

Darwin looked concerned. “Could you draw me a map of the place?” He asked.

Hank nodded, “I think so.”

As they turned back towards the palace, circling around the outer wall of the castle, they saw a rider passing in front of them on the main road. He was moving fast, and wore a long cloak, but still they caught a clear glimpse of his face as he passed.

“Shaw’s servant has returned,” Charles observed. The three of them exchanged a look and quickened their steps.

When they reached the stables, the servant was cursing the stable boys for their slow and lazy work. His saddle, packed with what appeared to be provisions from the trip, had been taken from the horse’s back and flung carelessly to the floor.

The stable boys looked nervously when Charles entered, clearly unable to decide between attending to the man already angrily berating them, or shifting their attention to the royal consort. Charles shot Darwin and Hank a quick look, and then, hoping one of the two of them had caught his intention, called out to the stable hands.

“I need a horse,” he said. “It’s been ages since I rode, and I’m determined to make a pass around the countryside.”

The boys gaped at him: clearly it wasn’t the thing for a pregnant omega to be riding, and yet none of them was of a rank to tell him so. Charles raised his voice and complained more loudly, until he had the attention of Shaw’s servant, as well. When one of the braver boys hesitantly suggested that a stout pony might be more suitable, he stamped his foot and threatened to complain to the steward.

Out of the corner of his eye, Darwin had slipped over to the abandoned saddlebags, and prodded one with the toe of his boot until a thick parcel bound in leather slipped out. Quickly, Hank bent down and snatched it up, pushing it into the wide sleeves of his habit. 

Charles continued to fuss until they were out the stable door, and then he allowed himself to be placated and cossetted into giving up on the idea of riding, and returning to his rooms for a nap instead.

 

 

Hank was waiting there for him when he returned.

“I’ve spoken to Darwin,” he said. “He’ll trade with the guard who waits at the entrance to your quarters so that we can reach him later this evening if we need too.”

Charles nodded gratefully. They cleared the small table and then Hank removed the parcel he’d hidden in his sleeve, and allowed the contents to be spread over the table. 

First was a heavy seal, which fell onto the table with a thunk. Charles picked it up and turned it over in his hands. It was the king’s seal, identical or very like the one Erik pressed into the wax seal of each letter he sent Charles. With it in hand, he imagined, man could travel from one end of the kingdom to the other, unmolested. 

After the seal a letter had fluttered from the parcel to the table. Charles took it up next. It was sealed with blue wax and stamped with an ‘A’. And there was a metal seal, which Charles recognized as being imprinted with the royal crest.

“If we open the letter,” Hank observed. “They’ll know it was tampered with.”

“As if we have any choice,” Charles decided firmly. He broke the seal.

The first thing he saw when he unfolded the page was the signature across the bottom edge of the page. It was the thief-king’s signature, but not the handwriting Charles would have expected. It was the literate signature of a well-educated man, not the scrawl of a half-educated man. What sort of thief was this Azazel, then?

Prime Minister,

I am writing to inform you that I received your recent information, which I thank you for. My own scouts have tracked the King’s army since they entered the mountains.  
Rest assured that we have the situation well in hand. The mercenaries from Thracia have arrived, and they are well-trained and well-equipped, as you implied they would be.  
Janos assures me that your promise of compensation for my loyalty is still in place. Therefore, my next letter will include the details and outcome of our engagement with the royal army.

Azazel 

 

Charles passed it over to Hank. “This is proof,” he said. 

“But what do we do with it?”

Charles nodded thoughtfully. “That’s the trickier thing.” He frowned. “The Prime Minister must know by now that this letter has gone missing. With luck, his servant won’t know where he dropped it, but we can’t be sure of that.” He dropped his head into his hands and kneaded his temples, thinking. “We must send it all to Erik,” he decided, “as quickly as possible.”

Although it was difficult to behave as though nothing was wrong, given their panic, Charles ordered a quiet dinner, telling the maid he and Hank planned to eat together. As they ate, Hank worked carefully, tracing from memory as best he could the position of the villages, the ravine, the pass, and the location of the cave system that connected them. 

When it was completed, it was late in the evening. Charles opened the doors carefully, and slipped down the hall, looking for the place where Darwin should be stationed.

But to his surprise, Darwin wasn’t in the promised location. Instead, there was a tall man –one Charles didn’t know. 

“Do you need something, your highness?” the guard asked. 

“Um – no,” Charles hedged, trying to think of a quick lie. “Just – I took a walk this afternoon, and seem to have left my book out by the dike.”

“I’ll send someone to look for it,” the guard said, “in the morning.”

“I think the dew might ruin it,” Charles said, thinking quickly. “It’s one of the king’s, and I wouldn’t like it to be damaged.”

The guard looked at him skeptically, and then, sighing, went further down the hall, to speak to the guard who stood another hundred feet along. 

“Darwin should know where I left it,” Charles said helpfully. “He was my escort there.”

The guard looked at him, and now there was definitely some suspicion in his eyes.

“I’m sure we can find it well enough, your highness,” he said. “We know your usual route.”

Charles was beginning to feel panicky, when he felt Hank joining him – doubtless he’d been wondering, what had taken Charles so long.

“Thank you for dinner, your highness,” he said politely – in the dark, he grasped the packet of maps from Charles’ hand. “I’ll return to my own chambers now.”

“Of course,” Charles said, smiling in relief, and hoping Hank would have better luck than he had.

 

 

He couldn’t have slept anyway – he lay in bed wide awake, trying to keep each person and each piece of information, Shaw’s servant, the Prioress, the servant, the letter, the seal, in his mind. He imagined them, like pieces on a chess board, trying to think where they would come together and how he could set them against each other. But it felt as though he were playing a game with only his queen - or rather, his king – and one or two pawns on the board. His opponent was Shaw, and Charles did not know how many other pieces he held, and their locations were shadowy.

His stomach jumped into his throat when he heard a faint sound outside his door, followed by rasping as someone forced the lock open. He rose, but kept quiet, and in another moment he was glad he had, because the door slipped open and he saw it was Darwin, his slim figure shadowy against what moonlight came from the high window. 

“Your highness,” he said, when he saw Charles, standing in his white night shirt.

“You saw Hank?” Charles asked.

Darwin nodded. “He found me, and told me what you found. The Prime Minister’s furious. He’s shifted the palace guard around; suddenly it’s full of men I’ve never seen before. They’re suspicious: everyone’s watching. They must know that someone’s stolen that letter.”

“I understand,” Charles said. “Listen, Darwin, I know your arm isn’t healed yet, but, are you well enough to ride?”

Darwin nodded.

“I need you to take a fast horse, and deliver all that we’ve found to the king. You must leave tonight. Even waiting until morning might be too long.”

“Yes, sire,” Darwin said. Charles looked at him in surprise. It occurred to him that he had given an order without even thinking about it, and that Darwin, immediately, had obeyed. 

“Wish me luck,” Darwin said. “I’ll be long gone by morning.”

“Good luck,” Charles told him, and with that, Darwin slipped away.

 

 

He still did not sleep much after that, of course, and in the morning he was woken very early, but a considerable commotion in the castle. He rose, dressed rapidly, and went out, following the noise, until he found the cause of it. There were a crowd of people in the courtyard, guards and servants of the palace. Voices were raised, and everyone was jockeying for position.

“What’s happened,” Charles asked, finding Hank and Raven in the crowd.

“I don’t know,” said Hank, fearfully. 

“A traitor,” someone was saying loudly in front of them, “a traitor’s been caught!” and then another voice. “Darwin’s no enemy of the King.”

“Darwin,” Charles whispered, pushing his way to the front as best he could.

The Prime Minister was there, with a group of fearful red-uniformed guards - the same ones Darwin had said he didn’t know. All of them were gathered around a slumped body, that Charles saw in a moment was Darwin’s. The knight was breathing harshly, each breath wet and painful, and Charles could see that his still-healing arm had been broken again, and that he’d been beaten. When he saw Charles in front of him, he raised his head long enough to look into his eyes, apologetically, but then turned his head as if he hadn’t even seen the consort. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Charles asked.

“This man was caught fleeing the castle, with the King’s seal, and messages intended for the thief-king.” Shaw said, loudly, for all to hear. “He’ll be executed for his treason.”

“No,” Charles said. It was his mistake – if Darwin was killed, the blood would be on Charles head. But he could see, in the stubborn line of Darwin’s head, as he refused to look at Charles, that the knight was trying to protect him, and didn’t mean for him to be involved. 

“You’ve been very lucky,” Shaw said, pointedly, at Charles. “Everyone knows how much time this traitor has spent walking with you in the past few weeks. Clearly he’s been trying to extract information from you, or perhaps shift your loyalty away from your alpha, towards another.”

Charles eyes flashed. “I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding,” he said. There was some supportive murmuring in the crowd behind him: Darwin was well-liked, and Shaw was feared. Charles squared his shoulders. “We,” he said, emphasizing the word slightly, “are both completely loyal to the King.”

Shaw’s expression darkened, as he understood Charles’ implication. “Everyone knows that your bonding to the king has gone poorly,” he said, bluntly. “Are you really so faithful to an alpha you apparently dislike so much?”

Charles drew himself up, wishing as he did so that his height could rival Shaw’s. “Erik is my king, my alpha, and the father to my child,” he said, making his words firm and clear so that everyone could hear them, “and I will protect his interests, and the interests of his men.” He looked again to Darwin.

“I see,” said Shaw coldly, and then, abruptly, took another tack, and assumed the patronizing tone that alphas and betas often used with recalcitrant omegas. “I can see that you are shocked. As innocent as you are, coming from the Sanctuary, as you do, you never imagined that a friend might be a spy. This is all too much for you. You had best rest, and let me take care of this.”

“Execute Darwin, and your life will be in your own hands once Erik returns,” Charles promised furiously.

Shaw pressed his lips into a thin, angry line, and gestured to the guards to drag Darwin away.

 

 

In the confusion that followed, Charles was led down to Magda’s infirmary, to rest – it was assumed that the stress on him had been very great indeed. Hank found him there, sitting with his head in his hands, trying to think what to do.

Hank found him there. He came and sat beside Charles on the narrow cot, waiting until Magda’s back was turned.

“Charles,” Hank said, in an urgent whisper. “I’ll go, and tell the king what has happened.”

“You can’t,” Charles replied, surprised. 

“Why can’t I? No one will think of me, a monk and an omega. I can tell the Prioress I plan to return to the convent and just keep going.”

Charles shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. Look what’s happened already.”

“And how much more will happen if I don’t go, then?” Hank’s expression was stubborn. “Charles. You were ready to send Darwin. This is no different.”

“It’s completely different,” Charles argued. “Darwin is a knight, trained for such risks. You’re…” he faltered, and ran his hand nervously over his belly, “my friend,” he concluded weakly.

Hank shook his head. “I’m an omega, you mean. Well, you are too. That doesn’t change the circumstances. I want to go,” he concluded firmly. “I can’t sit here while I know that Alex may be walking into a trap.”

Charles looked at him, and then shut his eyes as if he was in pain. “Fine,” he said, “Alright. You’re right. Go. Just don’t be caught, Hank, please.” 

“I promise,” Hank said.

“Just one thing,” Charles added, and then went to Magda’s writing desk and took a sheet of parchment, and a quill.

‘Dear Erik’, he wrote, ‘I hope that Hank reaches you before you encounter the thief-king in the mountains. We have reason to believe that all is not as it seems, and that the action in the east has been a ruse all along.’

Quickly, he recounted what they had found – the letter that they had taken and then lost, from Shaw’s servant, and the seal, and what had happened to Darwin afterwards when he had been caught on the road by Shaw’s forces. Without those objects, he realized, Erik would have no proof of their story, but Charles thought that his words would be enough. Once all the information Erik needed had been put onto the page, Charles stared at it, unsure how to finish. 

‘I am well here, and safe enough,’ he finally wrote. ‘The child is also well. We wait for your safe and swift return.’ 

It did not seem like enough – but the kind of things Charles wanted to send to Erik were less well expressed by words, and more by emotion: he wished he could tell Erik that, although he was afraid, he had realized that he trusted him more deeply than he could have imagined, and that he would keep the castle, until Erik returned. 

He folded the letter, sealed it, and gave it to Hank, who tucked it into his sleeve. “Be safe,” he said. 

Hank leaned in, hugged Charles fiercely. “You too,” he said, “be safe.”

And then he got up and went away, leaving as calmly as if he were just going to the other room, to go to the library and look up a reference in a book, and would soon be coming back again.

 

 

Hank went at once to the Mother Superior, telling her that he meant to return to the convent at once. He did not explain why, but his nervousness seemed to speak for itself: she seemed to take the impression that he and Charles had fought, or that he was anxious over the recent upheavals at the castle and eager to extricate himself from them. She accepted his proposal without much interest.

Hank was an acceptable rider, but it had never been his favored hobby. Still, growing up as he had in a small village in the east, he knew as much as most people about how to handle a horse. 

The small brown mare he had arrived on was hardly the mount for long trips over hard country, but to request another mount would certainly be suspicious. He had her saddled and set out down the road at a moderate pace until he was a few hours beyond the castle. Then, he laid into her, and ran her until she was exhausted, making a wide circle around the Sanctuary so that, wherever he was relative to it, those who saw him would assuming he was leaving from it or returning.

The moon was close to setting when he arrived at a small inn, in the town over from the Sanctuary: he traded a few coins Charles had given him for a room and a fresh horse in the morning. When he left that day he rode only a few miles before stopping by the side of the road to stuff his monk’s robes into a saddle bag, putting on the less notable plain clothes of a middle-class merchant instead.

 

From there on he rode as hard as he could, pressing the animals and using Charles’ coin to change them for fresh horses at every convenient stop. He rode as long as the moon was up, and slept in fields and alone the side of the road rather than anywhere where someone might notice him.

After the first day, his thighs were already sore: it had been a long time since he’d ridden more than a few hours, and he didn’t have a tolerance for it built up. He tried to keep up the same pace in spite of that. When, on the third day, he recognized an occasional yellow-green field of the type of barley the peasants liked to grow at the foothills to the mountains, he felt a wave of recognition, followed by a wave of nausea.

The next morning when he woke, he felt worse than he had when he’d gone to sleep the night before (granted, the hard ground covered by a thin cloak didn’t make for much of a bed). Then he realized that it wasn’t just the hard riding that was wearing on him: nausea and cramping were the usual signs that came before his heat. 

He hadn’t forgotten about it, of course, although he’d let Charles forget, since he knew it would make it even harder to convince him to let Hank go. He had days still, and if he arrived at the King’s camp before the heat hit, he would still be able to deliver his message in time. So he kept moving, pushing himself and his animals as hard as he could without injuring them, and felt thankful that the roads were mostly empty and that the taciturn Easterners didn’t bother him very much.

The problem then, of course, was that he didn’t like to stop again – if people noticed him, an omega near to heat, it would be hard for him to get away again. Any kind-hearted people who found him would want to arrange a safe place for him to stay until it had ended. Any less kind folk would want to keep him close just as well. Either of those groups would feel justified in ignoring his wishes and confining him against his will, as heat-struck omegas were notoriously irrational and in need of oversight. 

His horse tired, and he couldn’t change it again, but by luck and Charles’ coin, it was a good little bay, able to maintain a good clip, although not the more frantic speed that Hank had pressed before. The flat fields merged into rolling hills that, in a short space, became quite steep hills: this was the part of the country Hank knew more or less well, as his mother’s family and all his uncles came from the area. The largest of the hills – more of a small mountain, really, took more than an hour to climb, and from there, looking down, one could see the town of Riversreach.

Darwin had told him it was razed, but it was still a shock to Hank when he stood there and saw it below him: gray structures, many burnt, fallen or half-standing, still not repaired since Azazel’s attack two months before. From his view above the town, he could see some men moving around: the town hadn’t been abandoned then, but was on its way to recovery. The king’s flag was flying from one or two of the taller houses, but Hank saw no evidence that the army was actually stationed nearby. They must have started their match into the mountains already.

He turned his horse away from the town – for he dared not travel on the main roads now, as his scent had grown too strong – and circled away in the direction of Dresdel. He knew the route the army must have taken: as he had told Darwin, there was only one good place to camp a large force, between the two towns: streams were scarce in the mountains and there was just one that was large and well-known, a convenient place to keep an army.

It took him all of the afternoon and evening to get past the town, because there were more people about, and he had to spend hours avoiding every farmhouse in his path. But finally, he had made it to the beginning of the trails that marked the sharp ascent into the mountains, and then, it was absolutely clear which way the army had gone, for they had left a large, cleared path, three times wider than the usual mountain trail, behind them. 

He pushed his horse towards the path, not bothering to hide anymore, and it picked its way up the steep road. When the sun set it quickly became too dark, between the trees and the shadows, to see well even by moonlight. But Hank kept going. He was certain that the army was very near, and that if he stopped to rest, they might slip ahead of him again. But he was not sure if that conviction was logical or not. He’d begun to be feverish, and it was increasingly difficult to keep his thoughts ordered: strange, dream-like ideas kept slipping into his brain, and he had to struggle to banish them again, and keep his attention fixed solely on reality: on the army and Alex, and reaching Alex, instead.

As he went his thoughts became less and less about reaching the king and warning him of Shaw’s treachery, and more about just Alex - finding him, that Hank needed, who could stop the burning and quiet the pounding in his ears. He went on like that, blindly seeking, and although he knew it wasn’t real he thought that he could smell Alex’s scent, the bright sunny warm electric spark of him. 

He’s had to leave his horse behind when it became dark, so he picked and stumbled his way along the trail, grateful that it was at least wide, and easy to follow. He thought he heard laughter in the trees, and then it slipped away again. Then there were flashes of orange fire, like torches. Hank groaned and moved towards them, taking deep breaths to keep his head clear as he did so.

Then, someone was yelling, and he heard the words, “omega,” and “heat!” followed by scuffling and more yelling. He sank to his knees and saw men wearing the rough uniforms of the king’s army in front of him.

‘I have a message for the king,’ he meant to tell them, but what came out of his mouth instead, croakingly, was just, “Alex.”

 

 

Erik was awoken by the sound of commotion in the camp: men shouting excitedly and footsteps pounding. He rose and stepped from his tent, only to find Sean already there. 

“There’s an omega in the camp,” Sean explained, as they quickly moved towards the sound of the commotion. “It’s started off a fight amongst the unmated alphas. The betas and the mated men are having a time breaking them off.”

Erik swore. There were a considerable number of unmated alphas among his men. Although they were disciplined, putting an omega in heat in the middle of them was a disaster waiting to happen. 

He broke into the center of the crowd, where, sure enough, some of the alphas had gone into frenzy, and were being held back by the beta members of the forces, still snapping and snarling like wild animals. Erik had an instant to wince, when he thought of how he must have appeared in his own frenzy, when he had taken Charles. 

There were two alphas still fighting, locked together despite the best efforts of the men around them to pull them apart: they were bloody, their clothing half-torn off of them, teeth bared, slamming into each other with the intention of breaking legs, or arms, to take the other man out of the fight. One of them, Erik saw with a start, was Alex, his own knight.

He went in and, gesturing to the men around him, managed to restrain Alex, pulling him back, while the others took hold of his opponent. Alex fought him like a wild animal, but Erik kept his hands bound against his sides, and shouted at him to control himself. 

As the flailing of the two alphas subsided, he was able to look over the omega which had caused the trouble: a young male, dark haired and dark eyed, with the pale, gangly limbs of an overgrown colt: a man who’d come into his adult height, but not his adult weight. He was sweating, alternately shivering and shaking in his heat, and all his attention was focused on Alex, as, clearly, all Alex’s attention was focused on him.

Then, with visible effort, he managed to tear his eyes away from the young alpha, and focus them on Erik instead. 

“The king,” he said, and then, “Azazel – Shaw,” and then, with effort, extracted a letter from a pocket, and offered it over to Erik.

Erik handed Alex off to several betas, and then took the letter and read it, first quickly and then again.

“The omega in the tent next to mine,” he said, “I want betas guarding him until his heat is over. If I find anyone attempting to sneak in,” he bared his teeth, so that everyone saw. “I’ll let the other alphas have at you.”

“Alex,” the omega said, rather plaintively. Erik understood what he was asking.

“You are a monk, are you not?” He asked. “I can’t let you break your oath, not in this state.”

“I won’t change my mind later,” he replied, looking at Alex as he spoke. Just hearing the omega’s voice seemed to have calmed him further. Alex looked besotted, no longer full of rage. Somehow or other, Erik actually believed them. Still, he couldn’t let them do as they liked: if nothing else, because Charles would kill him.

Erik sighed. “You two, stay away from each other.” He said. “Alex.”

Alex’s eyes flickered to him, and he huffed, “My word, Sire.”

“Good,” said Erik, and went away to plan based on what he had learned.

 

 

After Hank left, there was a day or two of quiet. Shaw and Frost clearly felt firmly in control of the castle, and spent their days reversing a number of decisions Erik had made before his absence. Petitioners who came slunk away again, realizing that their cases might not be heard fairly, and members of the court were murmuring about the changes.

Charles heard about much of this, since, in Erik’s absence and with Shaw’s defection, he’d become the logical rallying-point for those who were unhappy with the Prime Minister’s behavior. His public refusal to back down over Shaw’s treatment of Darwin had made this clearer still. And so, a trickling stream of complaints and rumors made their way to him, mostly through the servants: stories about small abuses and things overheard.

Charles acted on very little of it. He had done his best to warn Erik of the communication between Shaw and Azazel: beyond that there was little to do but wait, as Shaw was waiting, to see what news came from the front. He made sure to attend every meeting of the court, so that his presence did not fade into the background: but in truth it faded a little anyway, as no one was likely to pay too much attention to an increasingly pregnant omega. When he spoke, he chose his words very carefully; he said little but made sure that he followed through on whatever he promised. The more Shaw pressed down on people, the more they went looking for an alternative: Charles, almost de facto, was becoming the figurehead of that group. 

But there were mounting obstacles to be surmounted as well. The number of new guards about the castle was steadily increasing. They were mercenaries, it seemed: Shaw justified their presence by claiming that the castle needed the added protection in the interim. It was clear that they answered only to him. They made everyone nervous: they harassed the servants, who had no one to complain too besides Charles. And they were there outside his door every time he opened it, and one or more of them shadowed him everywhere he went. Officially, Charles needed the protection: he was carrying the king’s heir, which put him at risk of kidnapping, or worse. Unofficially, he knew it was Shaw’s way of demonstrating his power: a way of warning Charles that there was nowhere he could go without being seen.

He had, however, managed to wrest from Shaw a few concessions. One was that he was allowed to see Darwin periodically. After being captured and beaten the knight had developed a fever, during which he’d twitched and moaned alone in a dark cell at the bottom of the castle. Charles had been afraid he would die, and managed to have him shifted to Magda’s care. But again there were always mercenaries there, shadows in the corner of her bright little clinic. Magda paid them little notice as she went around her work.

“I’m too old for this nonsense,” she confided to Charles, when he went to visit her and Darwin, and been coerced into having a check-up on top of it. She had her hand on his belly, palpating it gently. The baby shifted under her touch, and Charles frowned. The child had become recently become active, and he still wasn’t quite used to it. 

He knew Raven tasted his food now, surreptitiously, not wanting to frighten him. She had also suggested, gently, that Charles ought to stop taking walks outside the castle, and Charles knew it was because she was nervous about what might happen to him if he wandered too far alone. It seemed clear Shaw and Frost wanted: to silence Charles. 

He couldn’t think of Erik without several strong feelings overtaking him: fear, that his mate might not be safe, and fear of what would happen if Erik was overtaken. But also longing, brought on by the pregnancy, to have his alpha near, and anger that Erik was not there to protect him, and that anger at himself, that he wanted to be protected. He let himself feel those things, and then pushed them aside to concentrate on the work at hand: how to keep the castle, so that it would still be Erik’s when he returned.

 

 

Erik’s strategy for dealing with Azazel had been a straight-forward one, and it was galling to realize that Shaw’s plan for trapping his army in the narrow pass to Dresdel might have been effective, if not for Charles’ warning. While the omega spent the night moaning and sweating out the worst of his heat, Erik met with his commanders, reworking their strategy in light of the information Charles had brought them.

In the end, it wasn’t a difficult thing to find the entrance to the cave Charles’ letter mentioned and pack black powder there so that it could be collapsed on Erik’s order. He split the army into three, with one group stayed close to the cave, to destroy the entrance at the first sign of enemy troops emerging, and a second quickly moving number of men, to climb up onto the ridge. 

When Erik entered the pass with the largest part of the group, they gave the false appearance that it was just a routine movement on their part, and that they weren’t expecting to meet the enemy there at all. Azazel’s men thought they were surprising them, and then found they were surprised. Erik’s men were fierce, and angry, as well as more numerous and better trained.

The only disappointment in the victory was that Azazel escaped somehow: one minute he was trapped with his back to the wall, surrounded by angry Erik’s men, and the next, somehow, he had completely disappeared. 

 

 

As soon as the enemy’s forces had been beaten, and the Thracian mercenaries sent packing, the army turned and began the march home again. Erik wanted to take Magneto and race ahead of his men, but, imagining that Shaw might have attempted a coup in his absence, he turned the whole army back rather than riding ahead of them. It took longer that way, though. Each day the men marched, and each night they set up their tents, and listened to the rumors of whatever locals had heard about events in the palace. 

He didn’t send out messengers warning of his arrival, as he would once have done. Still, he knew the news would follow in front of him. When they arrived at the city gates and found them open, Erik felt relief from a tension he hadn’t known he’d been carrying: there would be no need to lay siege to his own capital.

Everything was in clear disorder when he arrived: Shaw came into the courtyard as he dismounted. The statuesque Prioress Shaw was behind him.

“Welcome back,” Shaw said, with tight lips, and a gray face. Evidently, he not pleased to be welcoming him at all, but making an effort to appear so.

Erik gestured to his men, and Shaw snarled as they seized him.

“What is the meaning of this?” 

“You know very well. How long have you been planning this?” Erik asked pleasantly. 

He could see the slight shifts in Shaw’s face as he rapidly considering different tactics to take: denial, perhaps, would be one; perhaps he’d claim it had been necessary.

Instead, he went with emotional manipulation. “Erik,” he said, “you’ve always been like a son to me.”

“Wrong answer,” Erik said, sharply, suddenly unable to contain his fury. 

“I did everything for you,” Shaw hissed.

Erik snarled, full in his face, vaguely aware that he probably looked more a wild animal than a human being. He didn’t care. From the corner of his eye he saw Frost take a step back, and even some of his own men. 

Shaw, however, looked unaffected. To the Prime Minister, Erik realized, he was, and had always been, someone to patronize and manipulate: never taken seriously. Shaw had planned to use him and then throw him away: he was not Erik’s father, and Erik wouldn’t waste a moment more on Shaw, than Shaw had on him.

Shaw opened his mouth to speak. It was ridiculous that he still thought he was going to given space to spread his poison and his doubt among the men.

“Gag him,” Erik said, curtly. Alex looked pleased at the order: from somewhere, he was passed a dirty rag, which he crammed violently into the Prime Minister’s mouth. “Take them to the dungeons,” Erik snapped, already leaving them behind, striding towards the castle. “Where is Charles?” He barked at the guards there. “Where is my mate?”

But Charles was already coming towards, him, weaving through the courtyard. Erik’s eyes widened. In his absence, Charles had gotten larger: his belly, which had been a small bump when Erik left, was now large, so much so that it affected his gait, causing him to lean back a bit to offset the extra weight. Erik went forward to meet him, and then stopped, confused, and finally they met each other halfway in between.

Charles looked at him rather questioningly. “Welcome home,” he said. 

Erik’s mouth was dry. “It’s good to be back.”

He wanted to bury his head against Charles shoulder, breathe in the scent of him, which was pregnancy-heavy. Erik’s own scent was laced into his, but so thinly as to be distressing: Erik longed to roll against him, cover him completely, until they were completely merged: until Charles smelled like him, and he smelled like Charles, and the baby.

It was harder to tell what Charles’ reaction was to seeing his mate again. Charles was always controlled. But his fingers twitched as his side, as though he wanted to reach out and touch Erik, and after a moment he did, first grasping his arms in his hands and then moving towards him until Erik was enveloped in a hug. A bone-deep exhaustion that he hadn’t known he’d been carrying felt lifted. Charles hugged him for another minute, and then pulled away, looking away from Erik as though he was rather embarrassed. 

After a moment, Erik reached up to touch Charles’ arms, and then he pulled him in again.

 

 

The summer was long over: the late autumn crops were coming in, and the evenings were growing colder and colder. Soon enough, there would be snow. 

Truth be told, Charles preferred it like that. He had grown huge, to such a size that everyone was speculating he would have twins, and he felt overheated all the time: sticky and sweaty despite the cold. Sometimes at night he would push all the blankets to the edge of the bed (Erik was remarkably tolerant of this behavior) or, finding himself unable to sleep at all, pace the room back and forth trying to calm the child, who seemed nocturnal in predilection. He tried to do this quietly so as not to wake his mate.

His mate: it still sounded strange to think that, although not so strange as it once had. These days, he and Erik were a partnership politically, at least: he had become involved in all those affairs during Erik’s absence, and never extricated himself even after his return. They suited him, giving him a purpose during the days, and something to talk about with Erik in the evenings, over games of chess. 

He paused in his wandering, and looked down at Erik, who was sleeping sprawled across the bed, having quickly moved over into the warm spot where Charles had been lying. They’d gone to sleep wearing nightshirts, but Erik must have removed his in the night, because now he was shirtless. Charles felt a wave of rueful mild jealousy, looking at his muscular, flat chest, followed by a wave of lust. Recently, he wanted Erik all the time – more often and in more ways than were probably physically possible, given the size of him. He had heard that late pregnancy was often that way.

These days, Erik was the one who was careful: he would let his fingers brush over Charles during a game of chess, or kiss him, if Charles gave him any invitation, but otherwise he was always watching, waiting for Charles, with an intensity that was sometimes frightening, but more often exciting. It made no sense, really, given that Charles was as big as a whale, but it was obvious, none the less. He was sure that Erik still wanted him: he would have known from Erik’s scent alone, or his eyes, which grew lust-black when they looked at him. 

Erik shivered in his sleep; the room was cold enough, and Charles had done him the disservice of taking away all the blankets. He went over to the bed with the intention of pulling them up again to cover Erik. But when he came close, Erik’s eyes opened, sleepily. Then, he must have caught Charles’ scent, for his own responded.

Making a decision, Charles climbed back into the bed next to him, and pulled the blankets up over both of them. Erik turned towards him, and Charles, instead of turning so that they were facing each other, pushed himself back a bit, tucking himself into Erik’s arms.

“The baby was bothering you?” Erik asked quietly.

“He was. Not anymore.” Not sure how to ask for what he wanted, Charles pushed back further, grinding against Erik, and was satisfied by the alpha’s soft intake of breath in response.

“Are you sure?” Erik asked, because they’d been doing the same thing for nights now, and each time it went a little farther.

“Mm-hmm.”

Erik leant in and kissed Charles’ neck, and then bit, lightly, at the mating mark that had healed there. It sent a shiver of energy down his spine, that branching out as it went along, arching towards his fingers and toes. He leaned back into Erik in response, feeling him growing hard against him, and felt himself growing slick in response.

Erik leaned down, pushing down his underclothing, and then lifted the hem of Charles’ nightshirt. It was vaguely dreamlike, some sleepy, comfortable kind of sex. He reached around to stroke Charles’ belly, which he never seemed able to prevent himself from doing, and then slipped between Charles’ thighs, thrusting lazily. 

Charles kept his legs tight enough together to provide friction. He felt slippery and open, and was half-considering telling Erik to move his way upwards a bit, when Erik’s hand drifted lower, covering Charles’ half-hard cock. He pushed forwards in response, which earned a grunt from Erik, and then he pushed back to the delicious feeling of Erik’s length between his legs. Erik stroked him expertly, and Charles gave into the temptation to moan in response. He already knew that Erik loved working those sounds out of him, and, sure enough, his thrusting became more erratic in response. Soon enough, Erik was slipping himself between Charles’ legs, and Charles was spilling into Erik’s hand.

He felt Erik shifting, doubtless getting up to look for a cloth to clean them with. The child seemed to turn in his stomach, and Charles felt a wave of fatigue overtaking him.

Sure enough, a moment later Erik returned. Charles stayed on his side, but pulled up a leg to make his job easier. 

“I’m sorry to wake you,” he said, afterwards, rolling over with effort.

Erik smirked and put his hands on Charles’ belly. “Don’t be,” he said. 

Charles yawned in response, which was not exactly romantic, but comfortable nevertheless. Then he felt chilly, although he’d been too hot earlier, and leaned further in towards Erik. He felt him drawing the blankets up over them as he fell to sleep.


	4. Epilogue: Scholar's Mate

The day before Alex’s marriage, the King asked him if he would accompany him in a walk around the southern side of the castle.

“These sanctuary-raised omegas can be innocent,” he said, looking out over the apple orchards that stretched out below the castle on that side, and it was only then that Alex realized with a fair amount of horror, that he was in for one of those talks.

Alex admired Erik, obviously. He was a good king, a brilliant military commander, and a lion in battle. Talking about sex, however, was not his strong suit. Alex no more wanted to talk about his upcoming mating with Erik, than he would have wanted to talk about it with his father.

Erik didn’t really seem eager to have the conversation himself, because his face was stiff and his voice mechanical. Still, he appeared to feel compelled to speak his piece, and Alex, unavoidably, was going to be compelled to listen.

“Hank may not be,” Erik said stonily, “well versed in what is expected of him: in how to receive pleasure or how to give it. You may need to go slowly, to teach him these things.”

Hank had caught Alex under the stairs that morning, and kissed him in a way that would have made Alex jealous of whoever he had learned it from, had Hank not assured him it was all from a book, something that he’d read long ago and wanted to try since. Actually, Hank seemed to have a lot of ideas from books. He had done a lot of reading. Alex had never been the literary sort himself, but he was beginning to see new merits in the written word. 

So Alex felt it was somewhat unlikely that Hank was actually the delicate flower that Erik seemed, in his charming but rather old-fashioned way, to imagine that he must be. He was probably just projecting a little: it was no secret how Erik and Charles’ mating had been. Alex remembered the early days well enough, when the castle had been constantly oppressed by Erik’s moping, and Charles’ unhappiness had seemed like a desperate, wild thing. It had taken ages for them to come around to each other, but nowadays their compatibility, in all senses of the word, was obvious. The court thought that the way the Erik was forever plastering himself to Charles to be adorable, although, personally Alex wouldn’t have minded them keeping a bit more mystery in their relationship. 

Hank’s heat had begun to surface earlier that week. Usually he would study for hours in the castle library, until Alex came in the afternoons, once his training for the day was over, to force him out into the sunlight. So, when Hank became restless instead, and spent his time wandering the castle instead of reading or working on his instruments, unable to settle on any activity for more than a few fretful minutes, Alex had counted the months, breathed in the scent of him, and understood what was happening.

“Are you still sure?” He had asked, anxiously, after Hank had caught him under the stairs, when they’d been leaning together in the shadow there, bodies pressed together, both unwilling to pull away first. 

“Of course,” Hank had said. 

“I won’t be able to stop,” Alex had warned him. He’d already learned that from Hank’s last heat. In a way, it had terrified him: how out of control he’d been at that moment, ready to fight or kill for Hank. 

Hank had leaned in to kiss him quickly. “I won’t want you to stop.”

The short kiss had just been on the verge of turning into a longer one when there had been a shriek, as Moira and one of the cooks had discovered their hiding place.

“Get away from there!” They had chided, pulling the two of them apart a bit more violently that Alex thought was really necessary. “Stop that! You aren’t supposed to see each other now!”

And then Erik had forced him out on this ridiculous walk, and was now rambling on something about not shocking Hank and the importance of communication, and all Alex could think was please get me out of here, and also, seriously, Erik has absolutely no idea.

The wedding the next morning was rather traditional: Hank wore white, and was too far gone into the fever by then to do more than stumble through the ceremony and his vows. He smelled amazing, and Alex was so hard that he wasn’t capable of much coherent thought either, and frankly the whole thing was just incredibly embarrassing, standing there in front of all the court when everyone could tell clearly how far gone they were. 

Then thankfully somehow it was over, and they were being led to Alex’s rooms, and all he could think was Hank, Hank, Hank, and finally, and thank the goddess, and again, surely this is some fort of ritual humiliation.

When the door swung shut behind them Hank literally lunged at him, capturing Alex’s mouth with ferocity that had him hesitating a bare instant before responding with just as much fervor. They kissed hungrily, messily, and fuzzily Alex realized that Hank was trying to struggle out of his ceremonial clothing, without separating himself from Alex well enough to do so. With clumsy fingers he worked to undo the clasps holding Hank’s collar shut, growling in frustration when it refused to cooperate. 

“Let me,” said Hank, in between kisses. “I can-” probably from sheer desperation, he managed to undo the wretched things, yanking his collar far enough open that Alex could see his white neck and collarbone. Possessed, he put his mouth there and bit, Hank keeping his chin tilted up to grant access. Alex was possessed by the need to mark him there, he pushed Hank bank until the back of his knees hit the bed and he fell, sitting, onto it, Alex crowded between his knees, kissing, and sucking, and finally between the two of them managing to get the damned robe off entirely.

They were panting, and Hank cried out response to Alex’s tongue, and Alex pulled up from him long enough to pull his own tunic off over his head, and kick off his breeches – he thought he heard the laces rip, and did not care. Hank was in front of him, dark hair sticking in strange directions, his eyes black as he watched Alex. 

They tied over and over again that night, and one into the next few days. Several of the positions Alex had never even heard of before, even amidst the rough talk of the soldiers on campaign. He felt rather proud of them for perhaps having invented, or at least discovered them, all on their own. 

When Hank emerged from the bedroom sheepishly at the end of that week, bruised and covered in bite marks, it was more or less expected. Everyone shook their heads rather tolerantly: alphas were dominant, after all, and marking their omegas was strongly instinctive thing. 

When Alex followed him out, even more bitten and bruised, there was some smiling. Hank, despite his scholarly and rather quiet demeanor, must have been rather feisty in the bedroom. 

Privately, Alex though ‘feisty’ was a huge understatement. Hank was a beast in the sack: not the traditional role on an omega at all. Alex was the one who benefited, though, and it wasn’t like he had any complaints.


End file.
